Just Because
by Lawson227
Summary: COMPLETE. Carlton Lassiter gives into impulse for once—okay, twice—in his life. The results are... unexpected.
1. Impulsive Action

**Impulsive Action**

**DISCLAIMER:** Yeah, got nothing, own nothing of **psych**, just playing a bit in Will Never Happen Land. This was just short little blurb that came to mind. I have _no_ idea what this is or where it's going, so apologies ahead of time.

* * *

Impulsive.

Not a word anyone would ever use to describe Carlton Lassiter. Not even Carlton.

He considered this an asset.

He was a planner. Cautious and deliberate with most aspects of his life from his finances to his emotions. To not be so was to leave too much to chance and when one left too much to chance, it was an open invitation for all hell to break loose.

Enter into Evidence, Exhibit A: Shawn Spencer.

Even his relationship with Marlowe, as impulsive as it must have seemed to the outside world, had been thoroughly considered and thought out as he wrote draft after draft of his note of intent. Sure, she was a criminal, but there had been extenuating circumstances and she liked Clint Eastwood films. And him.

Which was not to say he hadn't had his share of somewhat impulsive moments. The department picnic some years back, for example. A few beers too many—on impulse—and he'd wound up making out with the biscuit lady.

Definitely not one of his finer moments.

But no one could accuse him of an inability to learn. The next time liquor had gotten the best of him, it had been spiked, thus he could not be held fully responsible for his actions. Well, except for the repairs to Bobo. Karen _had_ insisted on reparation and really, he couldn't blame her. Even without her directive, he likely would still have offered to fix the oversized pastry.

So no. Not impulsive.

Cautious. Responsible. Steady. Reliable.

All good things.

Which was why he had no idea why, after forty-three years of cautious, responsible, steady planning, he had in the span of less than two weeks committed two incontrovertibly impulsive acts.

Thing, the First: He ended his relationship with Marlowe.

An impulsive decision, made in the span of less than a heartbeat, yet once the thought crystalized in his mind, a decision he knew was undeniably, inescapably _right_.

Thing, the Second: On a regular, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary Thursday, he kissed Juliet O'Hara.

An impulsive decision, made in the span of less than a heartbeat, yet once the thought crystalized in his mind, a decision he knew was undeniably, inescapably _right_.


	2. Is There Anyone Out There?

**Is There Anyone Out There?**

* * *

Impulsive.

Not a word anyone would ever use to describe Carlton Lassiter. Not even Carlton.

He was many things, to be sure—

Irascible… cranky… rigid.

Cautious…responsible… quiet… steadfast… blue-eyed.

Intelligent… arrogant… suspicious… tall.

Loyal… cocky… tall… reliable… blue-eyed.

All positive attributes. Yes. _All_ of them.

Not that he hadn't his moments in the past—show Juliet a man who hadn't and she'd be digging into his past with the suspicious zeal she'd picked up after seven years as Carlton's partner because if there was anything she knew, it was that _every_ man had moments.

Some more than others, of course.

Enter into Evidence, Exhibit A: Shawn Spencer.

With Carlton, however, Juliet could count on those rare impulsive-seeming moments being backed by a Carlton-esque logic that ultimately made sense.

Which was more than she could say for Exhibit A.

So no, impulsive not a word Juliet would ever use to describe Carlton either.

Which was why she had no idea why, after seven years of cautious, reliable, blue-eyed steadfastness, Carlton had, in the span of two days, upended her world with two acts that could only be described as… _impulsive._

Thing, the First:

On a regular, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary Thursday, he kissed her. At the end of a workday that had stretched long into the evening hours, after finishing a dinner of Chinese takeout in the conference room and while clearing away the remains, Carlton took the carton of subpar moo goo gai pan she was planning on taking to Shawn, since he didn't care whether food was subpar, so long as it didn't give him food poisoning, tossed it in the trashcan, cupped her face in his warm, warm hands and—

He kissed her.

Not just a brush of lips against cheek or a light, casual—as if there could _be_ such a thing—mouth-to-mouth contact, no… no…

This was A Kiss.

His mouth firm, tongue emerging to trace the seam of her lips, coaxing—okay, very little coaxing involved—them open, exploring her mouth with devastating thoroughness. And when he drew back, the look in those intensely blue eyes wasn't panicked or shocked or apologetic or anything that was in any way, shape, or form, familiar. But before she could ask what in the _hell_ had just happened—or maybe just pull his head back down because clearly, this was just a hallucination brought on by extreme exhaustion and if was just a hallucination, well then, why not enjoy it, because Hallucination Carlton could really kiss—he'd calmly turned away and cleared the rest of the cartons. Five seconds later, the door to the conference room had opened to admit McNab with new evidence on their case, on which Juliet could concentrate with only seven-eighths of her brain, the other one-eighth occupied with the single overwhelming thought that Carlton Lassiter had _kissed her_.

Thing, the Second:

The day after The Kiss, a day during which Juliet was on her own since Carlton was up in Sacramento for the day with Chief Vick on department business, Marlowe Viccellio quietly slipped into the bullpen and left a small envelope with Juliet for Carlton. She could tell, by the weight and distinctive outline, the envelope contained a key. There was only one key she could imagine Marlowe leaving for Carlton and her heart broke a little for him, even if she wasn't completely surprised.

Not really.

Poor Carlton.

She wondered if he'd told Marlowe about the kiss. She wouldn't put it past him, since honorable was another one of those things Carlton undeniably was.

But she wouldn't pry. It was Carlton's business and if he wanted to tell her, he would. She would, of course, make it subtly known she was there for him. How there for him…

No. She wouldn't think that way. Even if she still hadn't figured out why he'd kissed her and kinda, definitely wanted to know. More disturbing—on several levels—she hadn't figured out why he hadn't kissed her _more_.

Not to mention, the not-so-insignificant fact that she'd wanted him to.

Which was _all_ besides the point.

The point was, Marlowe, not surprisingly, was leaving and Juliet would be there—as a _friend_—for Carlton.

So imagine her shock when Marlowe mentioned, with an undeniably sad glance at Carlton's immaculate desk, that maybe she shouldn't have been surprised, because good guys like him didn't happen to girls like her, but still—she'd honestly thought that maybe they had a real chance. To say this had all been terribly unexpected—so very out of the blue—would be… well… anyway, she'd known Carlton would be gone for the day and it gave her a chance to get the rest of her things out of the condo and could Juliet please give the key to Carlton?

Juliet had listened and nodded, registering the faint note of hurt in Marlowe's voice and the wistful expression and realized...

_Carlton_ had broken up with Marlowe.

Carlton.

Had broken up with Marlowe.

He had kissed Juliet.

And broken up with Marlowe.

And no amount of the Carlton-esque logic gleaned over the past seven years could give her _any_ insight as to why her steady, reliable, blue-eyed, never-did-anything-impulsive partner had committed two acts that could only be described as, well… _impulsive, _dammit.

And no logic anywhere that could explain why, those two acts, impulsive and out-of-character as they were, struck _her_ as undeniably, inescapably _right_.


	3. All In

**All In**

* * *

Regardless of how very right his impulsive decision to kiss Juliet had felt in the moment, during the moment, and _long_ after the moment, Carlton would nevertheless have expected to feel, at the very least, flustered.

Hm.

Nope.

Not flustered.

Not even so much as a hint of panic.

Which in and of itself, should have flustered him.

But nope.

Not at all.

It probably helped that the immediate aftermath of the kiss had been occupied with further work on their case and then today, he'd been physically separated from Juliet by the long-planned day trip up to Sacramento with Karen. Which, combined with the lack of panic or fluster, actually gave him a golden opportunity.

"Why did you transfer Lucinda Barry?"

Karen glanced up from fastening her seat belt, her gaze wide and clearly startled. "Excuse me?"

He secured both of their briefcases in the overhead compartment, then settled into the seat beside her, fastening his own belt. Knowing full well she'd heard his initial question, he merely elaborated. "While relationships between partners are discouraged, for obvious reasons, there is no specific dictate forbidding them. How one is handled is basically left up to the commanding officer so I'm curious—" He regarded her calmly over the bottle of water he'd bought before they boarded. "Why did you transfer her?"

For a moment, he thought she wouldn't answer. But where he might have once approached the topic aggressively or belligerently—all but guaranteeing she would shut him down with a curt, "Because I'm the boss," dismissal—he'd instead made his request in a deceptively reasonable manner far likelier to at least elicit consideration. A trick he'd seen Juliet utilize time and again over the years and one that generally garnered results.

One really could not accuse him of an inability to learn.

Slowly twisting the cap off her own water, Karen took a long drink. Buying time. Lowering the bottle, she met his gaze. "It's been seven years, Carlton. Why ask now? Have you heard from her?"

He shook his head. "Not a word. And really, this has less to do with her, specifically, than with the situation."

Understanding lit Karen's dark gaze. This was why he liked working under her so much. Rarely was there ever a need to waste time needlessly explaining the obvious. He wouldn't have been able to admit that seven years ago—maybe not even now, at least out loud—but he also knew it wasn't anything he needed to spell out. Part of what made her such a damned good Chief.

Slipping the bottle into the seat back pocket, she crossed her arms and studied him. With a small nod, as if deciding, she said, "One, you were the standing Head Detective while I was the brand new Chief of Police and only interim at that. Considering the exposure of your relationship directly corresponded with my hiring Spencer for the first time, I knew we were on thin ice and the basis of our working relationship going forward, not to mention how I was regarded by the department as a whole would in large part be based on how I handled the situation."

"You could have transferred me out," he suggested reasonably. "Especially considering how little you thought of me."

"Ah, but that's where you're wrong. I may not have always been crazy about your techniques, but I did _not_ think badly of you. You're a damned fine detective, Carlton—one reason transferring you was out of the question."

"There was another?"

"It would've had the appearance that in order to maintain control, I had to get rid of the detective who imagined I'd stolen his job." A half-smile with absolutely no humor curved her mouth. "That move might work for a man, but from a woman, it carries all the hallmarks of weakness. I _had_ to take a stand—and even if you hated me for it, I knew in time, provided you didn't quit outright, you'd at least respect me." One eyebrow rose. "I had no need to have you like me, but I absolutely needed your respect."

He recalled those first months of her tenure—how she was quick to stomp down his natural aggression and arrogance and put him in his place. She hadn't always been right—and he hadn't hesitated to point out when he thought she wasn't—but she had been right to do it. Not that he'd ever admit to that either—at least not out loud.

"You said 'one.' That would imply that there's a 'two.'"

At that moment, the pilot's tinny voice piped through the speakers, dispensing the usual information about takeoff, flight times, and weather conditions, followed by the safety demonstration by the flight attendants and almost immediately afterward, the beverage service. Fortified with a with a whisky for himself and a white wine for Karen, Carlton sat back.

"So," he said, staring down into the amber liquid. "Two."

"Two," Karen repeated on a sigh. "Well, two had to do directly with Lucinda herself." She took a sip of wine and set the glass on her tray table. "You have to understand, Carlton, I weighed her needs more heavily than yours both because of her position as a relatively new detective and as a woman on the force."

He took a sip of whisky and waited.

"I gave her two options—she could stay on the squad, assigned to a different partner, or she could transfer out altogether."

Carlton nodded slowly. "She chose transfer out altogether, of course."

"No, not 'of course.'" The sharpness of Karen's tone was the second moment in their conversation thus far to take him by surprise—the first being the revelation that she hadn't initially hated him. "She chose to transfer for a few reasons. She knew even if we never hired Spencer again, he was of the type to never let public knowledge of your relationship die—especially once he saw how much it rattled you."

Karen shook her head as she lifted her glass for another drink. "Boy, she figured him out in a hurry—realized he got some kind of twisted charge out of yanking your chain and she knew you were likely to ruin your career, probably by shooting him."

Carlton couldn't disagree with that assessment. Considering how close it had come a few times, even with Lucinda no longer in the picture.

She always had been a smart girl.

"Along those same lines, _she_ didn't want to have to deal with the constant gossip and sexual innuendo following the revelation of your relationship. What little she got was bad enough—coupled with Spencer's adolescent inability to let it go because of the antagonism between you, I'm sure it seemed like it would be an untenable situation."

He sighed as he sipped his drink. Really, he should have shot the asshat years ago. Or at the very least, stood up for Lucinda better. But objectively speaking, he really hadn't been in a position to do so, riddled with guilt at the fact that he was technically cheating on Victoria, regardless of how long they'd been separated at that point, and still harboring hope, faint and futile though it might have been, that they might eventually reconcile.

Karen wasn't kidding about thin ice—on multiple levels.

"The main reason, though, she transferred out, was because she absolutely did not want another partner."

"Come again?"

Karen's lips thinned slightly then with another one of those small, decisive nods slowly began, "I wouldn't begin to presume how important your personal relationship was to her, but what she was exceedingly clear about was her career. She wanted to be the best detective possible and to her, that meant working with the best. At the SBPD, that was you—if she couldn't have you, then her preference was to be transferred to another department where she might eventually have another shot at being partnered with the best."

Her head tilted as she regarded him. "I can't say I disagreed with that assessment." After another sip of wine she asked, "She never told you?"

Carlton shook his head as he drained his glass. "Not about having a choice in the matter, no."

She'd just quietly informed him she was being transferred—up to Sacramento as a matter of fact—and mired in guilt and anger, he'd simply accepted it as just another one of Karen's militaristic dictates. Punishment for his transgressions he was only too happy to accept, given he himself had considered it as a huge black mark against his own high standards, both professionally and personally.

Funny it hadn't even occurred to him to look her up while in Sacramento, not even to say hello. That chapter of his life had long been over and he had no real interest in revisiting it. It was as he'd told Karen—his recall of those days had less to do with Lucinda than it had to do with the situation itself.

They'd begun their descent when Karen finally spoke again.

"What do I need to know?"

Carlton was prepared. "I'm seriously considering pursuing a relationship with O'Hara. I do not, however, want it to have a negative impact on her career. If there is any possibility that might happen, my letter of resignation will be on your desk Monday morning."

Once again, Karen fell silent—with shock, Carlton imagined—not speaking again until they'd landed and were taxiing toward the terminal.

"Provided professional and personal are kept in their proper places, I… would have no substantial reason to separate you. The two of you are a formidable team and I certainly can't imagine any scenario in which it would be in the department's best interests to separate you in any way."

He exhaled, the only real tension he'd carried since the kiss draining away with her statement.

As the plane eased to a stop and the doors opened, Karen said, "You said _considering_ pursuing a relationship—am I to infer that nothing has happened yet?"

Carlton stood to retrieve their briefcases, appreciating once again how Karen so easily read between the lines and zeroed in on what was most relevant to the topic at hand. No unnecessary questions about Marlowe because she'd know it would have already been addressed for him to have even reached this point.

"Something has happened," he replied calmly. "Something I initiated. What's going to happen next and when, I'm not entirely certain, but I _am_ reasonably sure she wouldn't be averse to at least considering the idea."

Not for the first time did he find himself wondering who the hell this Carlton was—the Carlton who was certain Juliet wouldn't run screaming at the prospect of a relationship. The Carlton who'd known the time was finally right to kiss Juliet and had done so with a confidence rarely ever experienced within his personal life. The Carlton who could calmly approach his boss and basically offer up his career if necessary in exchange for the possibility of a relationship with Juliet O'Hara.

Karen nodded as she accepted her briefcase and stepped past him into the aisle. Once in the terminal, she fell into step alongside him and asked, "And Spencer?"

He shrugged. "A bridge we'll cross should we happen to come to it."

"He'll be worse this time," she warned. "The stakes are far more personal."

"Yes. They are."

The walked in companionable silence out to the parking garage. At her car, he waited while she unlocked the door and tossed her briefcase into the passenger seat. She paused with her hand on the door frame and met his gaze. "I suspect I don't have to tell you this, but where Spencer's concerned, please, be careful." She grinned, but it was shadowed with an obvious concern. "We both know he won't take it well and God only knows what idiocy he'll concoct to try to get at you. Don't provide me with any reason to have to take action—at least, not against you."

Carlton returned her grin. "I have no intention of it."

His smile faded as he recalled the feel of Juliet's mouth, her tongue stroking his, tentative at first, tasting of surprise, then more boldly the longing obvious and intoxicating, her hands sliding up his chest, to his shoulders and finally finding purchase in his hair, holding him close. That split-second impulse—that kiss that had lasted scarcely a minute—had cracked open the door to a future he'd long since ceased believing could ever become a reality.

"It's like you said, Karen—this time, the stakes are far higher."


	4. Can't Stop Thinking About You

**Can't Stop Thinking About You**

**AN: **This kind of unexpectedly wandered into slightly **M**-ishterritory. I hope you all don't mind.

* * *

"Why did you kiss me?"

It was just past ten on Saturday morning and Juliet stood on Carlton's threshold, staring into blue eyes that regarded her with that same remarkable calmness she'd seen in them Thursday night. As if he wasn't at all surprised to find her knocking on his door at an hour that would be early for most people on a Saturday—or any day, if your name was Shawn Spencer—but that was well into the day for him. Because she knew him as well as she did, she knew that by ten on a Saturday morning he would have already gone for a run, showered, and if necessary, gone to the grocery store.

At least, that's what his routine had been pre-Marlowe. What it had been post-Marlowe, she had no idea, but that was no longer an issue, as evidenced by the folded envelope tucked in the back pocket of her jeans.

So yes, she was reasonably certain that even with his scheduled late return the evening before, he still would have risen early, gone for his run, showered, and judging by the bags resting on the dining table, had just returned from the grocery store.

Without uttering a word, he stepped away from the threshold, waiting for her to accept his silent invitation to enter before closing the door and returning to the task of putting groceries away. Joining him, she emptied the reusable bags and sorted items for him to put away, outwardly calm, but hyper-aware, a subtle charge of static electricity playing across her skin, of her question—half-impatient, half-fearful—hanging between them,.

Just as she was about to speak up, ask again, even though she knew damned well he'd heard her the first time and was just taking his own damned time about answering, the bastard, he emerged from the kitchen holding two mugs of coffee. Handing her one, he said, "Because."

Because? _Because_? Was he kidding?

"Because?" she repeated, her tongue feeling thick and completely unable to wrap itself around the simple word.

He nodded and took a sip of coffee. "Yeah. Just… because."

She gripped her mug tighter, the ceramic hot against her suddenly chilled hands. "I don't understand."

Because while it was a simple—not to mention wildly noncommittal—word, she was damned certain that coming from Carlton Lassiter, it was anything _but_ noncommittal. And she _needed_ him to explain because while she could hazard a guess as to what he meant, to guess wrong would be to open herself to possible disappointment.

Whoa.

Disappointment?

_Not_ a noncommittal word. Rather definitive as a matter of fact.

And she had no idea where it had come from.

As Juliet rolled the word over in her mind, though, she realized that wasn't entirely true. She knew. It was scary, but she knew. Knew it came from the same place that had felt unaccountably and shamefully relieved at the knowledge that Carlton's relationship with Marlowe was over. That had felt the utter rightness of his kiss. It came from the same place that had had her avoiding Shawn since Thursday night and had driven her here first thing this morning so she could look into Carlton's eyes and be reassured she hadn't imagined the entire thing.

Leaving his mug on the table, Carlton wandered to the open patio door where he gazed out into the bright morning.

"Because I've wanted to kiss you probably hundreds of times over the past seven years but the time was never right. Because it wasn't the right thing to do. Because I couldn't do anything that irresponsible ever again. At least, that's the bullshit I fed myself because I was too much of a coward to actually _do_ anything about how I felt. And then, when I finally had no conceivable reason left to want to kiss you, yet I still wanted nothing more—that's when I kissed you. Because—it was finally time."

The longer he spoke, in that low, husky voice she knew so well, yet didn't know at all, the more Juliet felt that utter sense of _rightness_ cloak her once again. He stood angled away from her, the sunlight streaming through the window highlighting his distinctive profile and the silver in his hair, and bathing him in a warmth that didn't strike her anywhere near as foreign as it should have.

She joined him in the open doorway, closing her eyes as she lifted her face to the sunlight and breathed deep of the early fall air. Not all that different from any other time of the year, really, but still she imagined something of a shift, a certain lightness and clarity.

Or maybe it was just her.

She could feel Carlton's gaze on her—could feel the sheer _want_ in it—and that, too, didn't feel anywhere near as foreign as it should have.

How long had she been aware, on some level, of how he felt?

"So what now?"

The warmth surrounding him expanded to wrap itself around her as his hand cupped her cheek for a brief, skin-tingling moment before sliding down to curve around her neck, long fingers slipping up into her hair. Even with her eyes closed she unerringly met his mouth with hers, the element of surprise gone only that in this time, she'd known the kiss was coming. In all other respects, however, it was as wondrous as the first time—the amazement running even deeper. The way Carlton kissed was a revelation—slow and deep and utterly devastating, as if he had his entire life to do nothing more than explore her mouth.

As if this might be the last opportunity he ever had.

_Oh, God, no._

That thought had Juliet turning more fully into his embrace, her arms sliding around his waist to hold him close, hands fisting in the soft cotton of his t-shirt. Almost without conscious thought, she started pulling at the fabric, lifting until she finally encountered smooth warm skin. As her fingers instinctively stroked the long expanse of his back, her nails scoring the skin, he bit her lower lip sharply, making her gasp, then making her gasp again as the hand not in her hair grasped her hip and pulled her tight against him. Cradled close between his thighs, she could feel the source of his heat and his desire, clearly evident even through his jeans and hers. Returning his bite with one of her own, she rubbed herself hard against him, whimpering at the welcoming friction where she needed it most—whimpering again because the relief was fleeting, there and gone, and leaving an even more heightened sense of desire in its wake.

Leaving her wanting more.

Rubbing against him again, her breasts heavy and aching within the confines of her bra and desperate for his touch, she slid her hands down his back to the waistband of his jeans, fingertips slipping beneath to stroke skin that was even warmer, more welcoming, practically begging her to explore further.

"Juliet," he groaned against her jaw as her fingers slowly trailed from back to front. Her pulse pounded wildly at the base of her throat in the exact spot where he fastened his mouth as her wandering fingertips slid across his hipbones before encountering twin shadowy hollows, the heat growing more pronounced as she stretched, smooth skin giving way to coarse, wiry hair and nudging the fingers of one hand, the absolute smoothest skin—deceptive softness masking strength and hardness and hotter than anything she'd ever felt before.

She had to get closer… had to have him… _now_. But as she slipped her hands free of his waistband to fumble with the button, his hands wrapped themselves around hers, holding tight.

She blinked, sunlight invading her senses and leaving her temporarily unable to see his expression. "Carlton?" Her voice emerged weak and thready and more than a little desperate.

He sagged back against the door jamb, his eyes closed as his chest rose and fell with fast, ragged breaths. "We can't."

They couldn't? Juliet was confused. She thought his answer to her question of what now had been pretty clear—he wanted her. She _knew_ he did. And he had to know she wanted him. Dear _God_, did she ever want him. The shock of _how_ much was still new, but like her burgeoning understanding of how much he wanted her, did not feel anywhere near as foreign as it should have.

So why couldn't they take this moment to its inevitable conclusion? Why weren't they moving toward his bedroom where they could spend the rest of the day exploring each other's bodies and souls and all these emotions that had clearly been lying in wait, the right moment eluding them until Carlton, after years of patiently waiting and in what had to be a terrifying move for him, decided to create the moment?

All of a sudden, a horrifying thought occurred to Juliet. What if… oh, God, what if after so many years of wanting her—of… for lack of a better word, _pining_ for her… what if…

What if now that he _finally_ had had a taste of the object of his desire it was…

_Disappointing?_

As if he could sense the direction her thoughts were headed, could sense how very close she was to pulling free and running, as fast and as far as she could—possibly to Iceland—his hands tightened around hers. Lifting them to his chest, he used one hand to keep them pinned there, right over where his heart raced, while his newly freed arm wrapped around her waist, his hand dropping to her ass and pulling her even closer. Cradled so intimately and so perfectly between his thighs, Juliet could clearly feel that no matter how much he was saying they couldn't, it was a battle he was waging against his body.

This man, who often found it so difficult to communicate with words, finding the absolute perfect way to reassure her this was in no way a rejection. Knowledge that allowed her to relax, her entire body sinking more fully against his as she dropped her head to his shoulder with a shuddering sigh.

"What now?" she whispered again, resigned to the fact that what she suddenly _desperately_ wanted wouldn't be happening. At least not today.

With a deep breath of his own, Carlton pushed her back slightly, just far enough to lead her the short distance to his sofa. After sitting, he did nothing more than stare, his remarkable deep-set eyes a clear, fathomless blue as he studied her—appeared to drink her in. In turn, Juliet imagined losing herself in that all-encompassing gaze—delving deep to discover who this man really was—because he most certainly wasn't who she'd thought for all these years. Clearly, he was so much more. For all that she knew about him—and she would wager it was a good deal more than almost anyone else—it was becoming evident with each passing moment how very little she truly knew. Mind, she understood it was in part by design. She was more than aware how extremely capable Carlton was at hiding his emotions—knew to what lengths he went to guard himself against those who might hurt him. She had simply never, in her wildest dreams, imagined he would ever felt the need to employ those techniques against her.

That he'd have to hide from her.

So yes, quite a lot to learn—starting with why.

"Beautiful Juliet."

The heat, so recently banked back to something manageable, ignited at the sound of his low, seductive voice, sweeping through her with the vengeance of a California wildfire. Her breathing quickened as the backs of his fingers brushed against her cheek, innocent and gossamer light, yet holding the promise of so much more.

"What now," he said with a sigh, taking her hand in his once more. "What now is you have to leave here—"

"But—" she broke in, but stopped short at the pressure of his hand around hers.

"Juliet, you're going to need space in which to make a decision. Space you won't ever be able to get if we sleep together today."

She inhaled, prepared to protest, prepared to say she _knew_, although what, exactly, she knew, she wasn't sure—she just _knew_, but he stopped the flood of words before it even started by touching the fingers of his free hand to her lips.

"Please, sweetheart—let me talk. Because I only have so much fortitude and the way you're looking at me right now, and knowing that I'm the one who's put that look on your face, it's all I can do to keep from hauling you off to my bed and not letting you out anytime soon."

More heat coursed through her—at his words and the endearment, so unexpected, yet sounding so right—that left her clothes feeling like an itchy, uncomfortable burden and her breathing coming in fast, shallow gasps. More than a little lightheaded, she watched as his gaze dropped to her chest where bra and t-shirt proved flimsy barriers against her arousal.

"It almost hurts," she said quietly, watching as desire flared in his eyes with the deep blue intensity of a gas flame.

"Jesus, Juliet," he groaned. He shifted on the cushions, obviously just as desperate and uncomfortable as she was. She shifted her hand in his, lacing their fingers tight to the point of pain, yet it was a pain she welcomed, since it distracted her from the ache that was beginning to consume her entire body. And she was still no closer to knowing why they couldn't.

"Please. I need to say this while I still can." He brought their palms flush against each other and there was just something about that particular grip—something almost unbearably sweet and intimate—that alleviated some of the ache. At least enough to allow her to slow her breathing and focus her attention on what he needed to say more than what they both so desperately wanted to do.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "That wasn't fair."

Surprisingly, he laughed. "Fair and I aren't generally on speaking terms anyway." Sobering, he added, "And yet, here I am, about to be as fair as I've ever been." He took a deep breath, his face settling into the serious, almost stern lines she knew all too well.

"You need to leave here," he began again, "and you need to do a lot of thinking. Clearly, there's something between us and unless I'm completely cracked, I think we can both acknowledge it's something that's been there, in some form, for a long time."

He waited for her nod, then continued. "At the same time, though, there's… an obstacle." With an impatient sigh, he ran his free hand through his hair, leaving it in unaccustomed disarray. "Obstacle," he muttered, almost to himself. "Nice, Lassiter—you can't even call it what it is."

"Shawn," Juliet ventured, because what—or rather, _who_—else could inspire equal parts exasperation and aggravation?

"Shawn," he agreed. His expression settled back into its serious lines. "Let's be honest, Juliet—you are currently involved in a relationship with Spencer that, however incomprehensible it might seem to me or, you know, anyone _else_, is one you waited a long time for and for which you've fought a lot of battles. Including against me."

Silence cloaked them for a long moment before Juliet found herself slowly saying, "Well, if _I'm_ going to be completely fair, a lot of those battles have been against myself, too. And him." Admissions she might never have imagined making. Admissions she never even realized she had clearly already made, somewhere deep in her psyche.

More silence, Carlton's thumb rubbing against the back of her hand in a soothing caress. Finally, he said, "Be that as it may, you need to make a decision. And no, you can't just leave here, go to him, and say, 'Oh, hey, by the way, Shawn, I've discovered I'm wildly attracted to Carlton, so we need to break up.'"

She blinked, stunned that he'd cut her off at the pass so effectively. Reminded yet again how damned good a detective he was. A _real_ detective, relying on intelligence, skill, and simple hard work to do his job. She also found herself stifling a giggle at the sheer outlandishness of his statement. Rather than take offense, however, he chuckled along with her, relaxing enough to draw her to him, his arm circling her shoulders.

"Yeah, I know how it sounds and that's considering what we know. Imagine how it would sound to Spencer?"

Maybe Juliet should have been alarmed by how easily she was able to envision Shawn's incredulous expression, perhaps with cinnamon sugar from a churro in the corner of his gaping mouth, glittering gently in the sunlight. Then he'd dissolve into helpless laughter. Perhaps leading to an apoplectic fit. Instead, however, she found herself torn between weary resignation and fury, her only alarm arising from the realization of how common both of those emotions were for her where Shawn was concerned.

"He'd never believe it."

"To be honest, Juliet, before Thursday, I would've had a hard time believing it myself. Even now, holding you in my arms and hovering a slender thread of self-control away from ripping your clothes off, I'm still half convinced this is all just an elaborate delusion. Just the beginning of the long, inevitable slide into madness to which seven years of sustained exposure to Spencer has driven me."

Mindful of that slender thread, the same one thrumming through her and oh-so-close to snapping, she shifted slightly and pressed her lips to his throat, right where his pulse beat. Feeling the vibration beneath her mouth, how… alive he was, spurred her own heartbeat. Very carefully, she touched the tip of her tongue to that spot, as if she could absorb the very essence of who he was through the salt of his skin, the steady throb of his pulse against her mouth.

Beneath her hand, his chest rose and fell with a huge, shuddering breath. "Altruism sucks."

The vibrations from his voice against her mouth, not to mention the words themselves, had her easing back.

"Why are you being so altruistic?" She stared down at their joined hands, unable to meet his gaze. "He wouldn't be. Especially not where you're concerned."

"It's sure as hell not because I give a rat's ass about him or his feelings. This doesn't have a damned thing to do with him." Warm fingers grazed her jaw before he tilted her head up far enough to meet his gaze. "This is all about you, Juliet."

Shifting his hand to stroke her hair, he quietly said, "I know you. You're a good person. Probably better than I deserve. And it goes without saying that in my less-than-humble opinion, you're better than anything Spencer would ever deserve. But that's irrelevant. What is relevant is that I don't want anything that happens between us starting under a cloud of guilt because you feel as if you've been deceitful or have hurt Spencer. I don't want something like that eating at you and damaging what we could have."

He shrugged, a vaguely sheepish smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Maybe from that standpoint, I'm really not all that altruistic."

Juliet absorbed his words, rolled them over in her mind—considered the enormity of what he was saying and all that he'd implied. "What you are, Carlton," she began very slowly, this time holding his gaze, because he needed to understand all she was saying, "is honest. Which is more than I can say for Shawn." She drew a deep breath. "Or myself."

"You had your reasons. I gave you a lot of them."

Of course Carlton understood what she meant. No needless explanation, no having to correct him because he was being willfully obtuse or reinterpreting her words in a way designed to suit only him.

She nodded, understanding they didn't need to rehash the entire ugly incident because regardless of whatever choice she made, it would be rendered inconsequential.

"So," she said. "You want space."

He shook his head. "We _need_ space."

"Okay. And then—?"

He rose and returned to the open patio door. Turning, he crossed his arms and leaned against the frame. "And then either the status quo remains on all fronts, including our professional relationship, I swear, or we move forward."

"And what, exactly, do you mean by that, Carlton?"

"Do you really want to know?" he asked.

"Considering you're asking me to consider breaking off one relationship in favor of another—both acts which could wreak unimaginable havoc for us both personally and professionally, yeah, I do."

He regarded her with that same sense of calm she'd seen from him in the wake of his first kiss—not just calm, she realized now, but certainty.

"I love you," he said simply. "I have for a long time. But what I mean by moving forward is that if I let myself, I could very easily be _in _love with you—for the rest of my life."

Carlton took a deep breath and spoke very softly. "Obviously, I can't speak for what you want, Juliet, but what _I_ want is for us to have the chance to find out."

In all the years they'd been together, Juliet had never seen Carlton look helpless or imploring. Not even with a gun pressed to his head, his life on the line, had he looked anything other than resigned yet still defiant. Until now.

"What you need to figure out, Juliet, is what you want." Even from this distance she could see his throat work as he swallowed. "And that's why you need to leave."

Slowly, she stood and crossed to where he stood. Reaching into her back pocket, she withdrew the envelope she'd kept close since Friday. "Marlowe left this at the station."

He regarded the envelope, the key's outline clearly evident, for a long, silent moment before reaching out and folding her fingers over it.

"Keep it," he said softly. "But if you use it, Juliet, make sure it's for keeps."


	5. That's How it Is

**That's How it Is**

**AN: **Sorry for the interruption in service, dearies. Been a crazy week. Hopefully, we're back on the Story Express and will be motoring along.

* * *

Of course it wasn't that easy. If it was, Juliet would have simply refused to leave, ripped his clothes off, damn all his stupid, honorable protests that she needed time, and they'd likely _still_ be in bed having the kind of red hot monkey sex that might still be illegal in many states . But he'd seen in her eyes, behind the lust—that he still marveled he'd been able to inspire in her—and the newly awakened awareness that there _could _ be something of substance between them, the knowledge of what she had with Spencer.

What that was exactly, Carlton couldn't even _begin_ to guess and honestly, didn't really want to know. What he _did_ know was there was a substantial amount of emotion there. There had to be, otherwise there was no way she would have ever given the addle-brained nimrod a shot in the first place, much less stuck with him through all of the ensuing shenanigans of the past year. And much as he hated to admit it, Spencer did care for Juliet—maybe even loved her, in as much as he was capable of loving anyone—but therein lay the rub. He loved her, but could he ever love her more than _himself_? Could Shawn Spencer look past himself enough and on a consistent enough basis to sustain a long-term romantic relationship? At least of the sort Juliet deserved?

Personally, Carlton had his doubts. Setting aside his own feelings for Juliet and the fact that he considered Spencer an insufferable, grandstanding gasbag, he honestly—in seven years of knowing the man—couldn't pinpoint more than the briefest of instances where Spencer had ever appeared capable of behaving like a fully functioning adult. Then there was the not-so-insignificant matter that in the wake of those fleeting moments, he inevitably regressed to even more idiotic and infantile antics, as if to dispel any nasty miasma of responsibility and maturity that might think to cling.

If that was the life he wanted for himself, well then, bully for him. He was more than welcome to it, although Carlton would much prefer if he did it far the hell away from Santa Barbara or at least, the SBPD.

Juliet, however, deserved more.

But Carlton couldn't make that choice for her, now, could he?

Of course, his inner devil, probably the same mouthy little bastard who'd pushed him to kiss Juliet in the first place, insisted he could certainly help matters along, because come on, had he _not_ felt how warm and pliant she'd been in his arms, hands down his pants and tongue down his throat? That's when the guilt-and-honor fueled half of his psyche that had ruled his emotions for the vast majority of his life inevitably piped up, insisting that despite the inescapable attraction, despite the utter _rightness_ of them, he had to—one more time, with gusto—_let her choose_.

The end result?

A sleepless weekend resulting in a Monday morning in which he was even more irritable and snappish than usual. Enough that department personnel as a whole were giving him a wide berth and funneling any inquiries or requests through Juliet with whom he'd at least been polite, if a bit remote. The end result was more than a few quizzical glances across the space separating their desks, carrying clear overtones of "Why in the hell should I even consider this guy again?" At least that's what _he'd_ be thinking.

_Good—you want her to consider exactly what she's in for with Spencer? Then she should do the same for you._

_Bite me. She's had seven years of knowing _exactly_ who I am._

_You could say the same for Spencer._

_You're forgetting one key difference you sanctimonious little prick._

_Oh? _

_I've never lied to her._

"Detective, how goes it?"

Already irritated, he glanced up from the files spread across on the conference room table, breathing a sigh of relief that it was only the Chief in the doorway, coffee mug in hand. Juliet had stepped out in search of another file, leaving him at the mercy of any idiot who felt the need to cross his path. She had even said, as she'd stood, it would do him some good to practice his big boy manners, fair warning that he was beginning to wear on her nerves more than a little as well.

_Let her see you at your worst. Trust that it won't even begin to touch Spencer's worst._

_Maybe, but what if my best doesn't match up either. What then?_

"Carlton?"

Shaking off the holier-than-thou voice, he snapped out of his head to find that Karen had moved fully into the room and was, in fact, standing beside him, leaning up against the table as she sipped from her mug. While normally, she was as inscrutable as a sphinx, her current expression spoke volumes.

"Who complained?"

One eyebrow rose. "The better question is who hasn't."

"Wusses," he muttered as he reached for his own mug, grimacing as he swallowed the bitter dregs.

"You left Komanski, a hardened fifteen-year veteran shaking so hard he had to call his doctor to have his Ativan prescription refilled."

"Yeah, well he had it coming."

"He left his cruiser parked with _one_ tire over a line in a parking space, Carlton."

"He was impeding Visitor Parking," Carlton protested. "Imagine if some idiot civilian got a hair up their ass to complain about accessibility issues or some other civil rights bullcrap or God forbid, what if Komanski had backed out of the space and _hit_ an adjacent vehicle? Do you really want that hailstorm of bad publicity raining down on the department, Karen? Perhaps a lawsuit? Hm?"

Karen remained relatively still as he ranted, although a small smile twitched around the corners of her mouth and hell, even he could hear how monumentally crazed and whackaloon he sounded.

"Feel better?"

"No," he muttered, shoving a hand through his hair.

Without a word, she grabbed his empty mug and left, a few moments later, she returned, both their mugs filled and not surprisingly, his prepared to his preference. If asked, he would have known how she took hers as well. You didn't work practically hand-in-pocket with someone for so long and not pick up on basic habits—not and be able to legitimately call yourself a detective.

"I did consider the wisdom of feeding you more caffeine," Karen said with a smile as she handed him his mug. "Since you do seem to be a bit more wired than usual."

She resumed her position leaning against the edge of the table, idly thumbing through the files as she let him take a few equilibrium-restoring sips.

"Is all this about that personal matter we discussed on Friday?"

Busted. And he could tell by the expression on her face that she could tell by the expression on _his _that yes, of course this was all about the blasted "personal matter." Because Karen Vick was still a damned good detective, capable of efficiently sussing out the source of his ire.

"I'm sorry." He shoved his hand through his hair again. "I know you would prefer that personal matters not impede on the workplace and I know for damn sure you'd prefer to stay out of your subordinates' personal lives."

"True on both counts." She regarded him over the edge of her mug. "But I did some thinking of my own over the weekend."

Panic jolted through Carlton, making him snap forward in his chair, coffee sloshing over the edge of his mug and onto his hand. "Dammit," he hissed as the hot liquid hit his skin.

"Relax, Carlton." Karen produced a napkin from the depths of her pocket and swabbed his hand in quick, efficient movements. As his jaw dropped, she grinned. "I'm a parent—I always have a napkin or tissue on my person somewhere." Her brown eyes were warm with obvious humor. "You never know what sorts of messes you're going to be called upon to clean up."

"Gee, thanks," he drawled, eyebrows drawing together as an image of himself as a cranky toddler, stomping his foot because he couldn't have what he most wanted, formed entirely too readily in his mind's eye. Not that having a full-out tantrum didn't hold some appeal, at the very least in hopes of releasing some of this damned tension, but it veered a little too close to Spencer Modus Operandi for his comfort.

So much for patience and having a handle on his emotions, knowing full well that things might not go his way.

"As I said," she began again, "I did some thinking and while yes, my preference is for personal to stay personal and out of the workplace, mostly because I've always felt that divide is crucial in preserving my officers' safety, I realized I've been a huge hypocrite with respect to that rule."

Curious, Carlton sat back in his chair and waited.

"I'm not stupid, Carlton."

"Never thought you were." Naïve, maybe, and investing a bit too much faith in certain arrogant gel-heads, but never stupid.

Setting her cup aside, she hoisted herself onto the edge of the table.

"A body would've had to have been deaf, dumb, _and_ blind to not realize Spencer was interested in O'Hara as far back as the first year she worked here. That he delighted in tormenting you. Those two factors alone rendered his continued presence at least somewhat personal."

She stared down at her idly swinging legs. "Then I hired Henry as the consultants' liaison and much as I might try to argue that it was strictly because of his experience as a cop, let's call a spade a spade—"

"It was his experience as Spencer, Senior," Carlton interjected, no censure in his voice.

"Exactly, although I don't know what in the hell I was thinking," she admitted with a rueful grin. "It's not as if Henry was ever all that successful at corralling Shawn."

"He does seem to be able to get through to Shawn on some level more so now than when he was a kid." Carlton could still recall an irate Henry manhandling his son through the station, snarling at him to book the surly teenager. A uniformed rookie, he'd been stunned—not so much to see Henry laying down the law, literally, on his own kid, but that a kid of Henry Spencer's could be so monumentally stupid as to try to pull one over on the preternaturally observant detective.

These days, Carlton understood their dynamic better. Didn't change his opinion of Spencer, Jr. as an idiot. The reasons, however, were far different.

"Be that as it may, it doesn't change the reason that I even offered the job to Henry was in some misguided hope that he might be able to bridge that gap between Shawn and—"

"Reality?"

He was rewarded with another grin and a surprising sense of kinship. "Something like that."

Karen's shoulders rose with a deep breath. "I guess what I'm trying to say is, after seven years of tolerating Spencer's antics and his increasingly supercilious attitude—not to mention, having looked the other way where his relationship with O'Hara is concerned, mostly based on yet another technicality, I'm more than willing to grant you some leeway as you work your way through…"

"Trying to steal my partner away from another man?" he supplied when she faltered.

She cocked her head, thoughtful. "But is it stealing, really?"

_He _didn't think so—but then again, he wasn't exactly in an objective position to say so, was he? Carlton fidgeted, mildly rattled to be discussing this with… hell, with anyone, really, but the fact that it was Karen? Then again, outside of Juliet, it was Karen who'd known him longest and in some ways by dint of shared experiences, understood parts of him better than Juliet did. And frankly, it was something of a relief to have validation that he wasn't completely out of his gourd because if he was, he had no doubt that Karen would let him know. And perhaps schedule him for yet another psychiatric evaluation.

"She's not happy. Not really."

He glanced up in shock, wondering if he'd somehow given something away.

Karen shrugged. "Even if I couldn't see it for myself, all it would have taken was what you said Friday about believing she wouldn't be averse to considering the idea of the two of you together. I know you, Carlton—you are not prone to making statements like that without some sort of basis."

Instantly, the feel of Juliet in his arms, hands roaming over his body, flooded Carlton's senses. Even if he couldn't feel the telltale heat rising in his face, he would have known he was blushing, judging by Karen's raised eyebrows and crossed arms.

"You don't say?"

"Definitely not averse," he mumbled, hoping to wash away the heat with a slug of rapidly cooling coffee. Nope. Not helping. Not worth a damn. Mostly because he could see her, over by the file cabinets, talking to Buzz, blowing a lock of hair out of her face with an impatient breath he could _feel_—teasing the skin of his throat, teeth nipping lightly at the sensitive skin, promising so much more.

"You don't say?" Karen repeated with greater emphasis, clearly enjoying his discomfort.

"Are you done now?" he snapped, half-irritated, half-laughing, much in the way he would have with Juliet or anyone with whom he felt that comfortable, which included well… pretty much only Juliet and Karen. Again, he found himself surprised, yet not surprised, that it was Karen, of all people.

Her laugh gentled into a smile. "Like I said, Carlton—I know you. At least well enough to know you wouldn't have even taken the first step in pursuing O'Hara if you didn't think it would work."

"I'm still not entirely sure it will," he admitted softly, the ever-persistent doubts plaguing him despite the memories of her body pressed up against his, soft and filled with want and heat for _him_.

"If she was really happy with Shawn, you wouldn't have ever gotten close enough to find out how she felt about the two of you together."

"I guess." He took a deep breath and met Karen's gaze. "I told her she had to take the time to choose, though."

And there went the ever-persistent fear—that Spencer, despite his continual ability to anger and disappoint Juliet, would charm and woo and be… Spencer, in all his whimsical, whackaloon glory that seemed to have entranced his otherwise steady and sensible Juliet. As confident as he was that at some point, she would want—_need_—something different, he wasn't at all confident that it would necessarily be him in the end. _Look_ at him—the very antithesis of everything Shawn Spencer. It was the equivalent of emotional whiplash.

To his surprise, Karen laughed.

"Oh, Carlton, you _are_ confident. Whether you realize it or not."

No. What he was, was confused. "Uh…"

"You're letting her make a choice," she explained. "Of her own free will. While Spencer, by contrast, has only one move—the full-court press. It's as if he doesn't trust she can make a decision without his being constantly in her face to remind her of how _fabulous_ he is." She slid from the table and propping a hand on his shoulder, leaned down, her voice little more than a whisper. "Women find a man's confidence in their intelligence and ability to make choices for themselves _very_ sexy."

Carlton leaned back far enough to look into his boss'—friend's—face. "Karen?"

She lifted an eyebrow in question.

"Please don't ever use the word 'sexy' with respect to me again."

She shrugged, not looking in the slightest bit apologetic. "Just proffering some intel."

He considered that for a moment. "I get that—but _still_." It nevertheless had the feel of his sister commenting on his sex life—or worse still, hers.

"Wuss."

"Absolutely."

Karen patted his shoulder. "Look, Carlton—I guess what I'm really trying to say here is if I was going to have a personal relationship going on under my jurisdiction, I'd much rather it was you and O'Hara than Spencer and O'Hara."

"Why?"

"For one thing, the two of you together will be far less disruptive than Spencer and… well, Spencer, _period_." She gathered up her empty mug and the used napkins. "For another," she added softly, "you're good for each other and you, especially, deserve a little good in your life, my friend."

With a final smile, she turned and left the room.


	6. Talking to the Moon

**Talking to the Moon**

* * *

Intimate conversation.

Feminine hand resting on a broad shoulder.

Dark blonde brushing black and silver.

An achingly familiar half-annoyed, half-sarcastic smile meeting a delighted grin.

Mesmerizing blue gaze meeting dark brown—

"Jules!"

Juliet blinked and reared back from the sudden appearance of Shawn's face with its inquisitive wide-eyed expression hovering uncomfortably close, like a Thanksgiving Day parade balloon run amok on a violent gust of wind. An instant later she reared back further, trying to escape the overwhelming aroma of red onion and hot sauce with which he'd dressed the chimichanga clutched in one hand, an enormous rainbow-hued shave ice in the other.

"Dammit, Shawn—" She scooted back on the blanket spread across the grass, shoving aside the charming, oversized wicker picnic basket. The one for which she'd stayed up the night before preparing her grandma's fried chicken and mustard potato salad, _after_ a bust had kept them out late, and for which she'd also woken up early—on a _Saturday_—to assemble. All before driving to the park in order to secure a lovely, shady, grassy spot overlooking the ocean before the bulk of the crowds showed up for the Fall Festival.

To be fair to Shawn, he'd shown up only one hour past their agreed-upon meeting time which was two hours earlier than he usually woke up on a Saturday—or any given day. The problem was, that hour of sitting on the blanket, cool breezes fragrant with the scents of the sea and freshly cut grass wrapping around her, gave her an entire hour in which she could sit and think, allowing her thoughts to wander to the same place they'd gone every free moment this past week.

Intimate conversation.

Feminine hand resting on a broad shoulder.

Dark blonde brushing black and silver.

An achingly familiar half-annoyed, half-sarcastic smile meeting a delighted grin.

Mesmerizing blue gaze meeting dark brown—

"Jules?"

She blinked again, grateful to note Shawn had thankfully retreated to a safe distance and doubly grateful for the fresh breeze sweeping away the sickening combination of spicy beef, deep fried dough, cloyingly sweet syrup, and the wrapped falafel he had cradled in his lap. Once again she spared a glance toward the picnic basket, untouched, since Shawn insisted on saving it for what he was deeming the "main" part of the picnic. Apparently, the chimichanga, shave ice, and falafel were mere samplers from his and Gus' progression through the festival grounds, checking out the various food vendors—so when the County Fair arrived next month, they'd be prepared. Gus was currently on round three while Shawn seemed to have settled in for the moment, content with the most recent fruits of his questionable labors.

"What?"

"You haven't heard a word I've said."

Not true. She'd heard a couple. Then promptly tuned him out. Mostly because she didn't give a rat's ass about the relative merits of the quality of the chimichanga versus the falafel and hey, would maybe the gyros be a better choice or what about corn dogs and tornado cut potatoes? What she _did_ give a rat's ass about was the intimate little exchange she'd observed between Carlton and Chief Vick. She cared that her boss hadn't seemed so much Chief Vick in that moment as _Karen_ Vick. She cared that it hadn't looked like a conversation between boss and subordinate so much as one between a man and a woman and dammit, why were _they_ having those types of conversations?

She _really_ cared that after that intimate little tête à tête, Carlton's foul mood lifted, leaving him, if not in a _good_ mood, per se, then at least much calmer. A calm that had remained in place for the rest of their extremely busy week. Even when Shawn had attempted to horn into a case in which he had no business interfering—admittedly all of them if left up to Carlton—he'd remained steady, refusing to engage Shawn directly, but rather leaving her to deal with him. In fact, while she had dealt with him, he'd disappeared into Vick's office for another one of _those_ conversations, emerging a few moments later with that same intriguing air of calmness about him.

"Jules, baby—are you feeling okay?"

No. No she wasn't.

She kind of had an intense desire to slap Karen Vick.

A lot.

The realization of which startled her somewhat. She wasn't a saint. She fully acknowledged she was human and while she might wish she was above such petty emotion, she couldn't deny what she was experiencing was a full-on bout of good, old-fashioned jealousy even as her rational mind recognized the jealousy as highly _ir_rational. Karen Vick was by all accounts, happily married. With a child. Nothing but professional in her behavior with her subordinates. And when her rational mind broke down the individual components of the exchange she'd witnessed, she had to admit there wasn't a damned suspicious thing to be read into it.

Juliet just wished it had been _her_.

Exchanging confidences.

Reassuring him.

Making him smile.

Which brought her to the second intense desire she'd been experiencing—namely that she kind of wanted to slap Carlton, too. For a variety of reasons, most of which boiled down to his lack of a single move her direction since the week before. He hadn't uttered an additional word about their discussion and needless to say, hadn't kissed her again. In fact, he'd been so… distant she'd very nearly been on the verge of convincing herself she had imagined the entire thing except for a single, fleeting instance on Thursday. Because, for whatever reason, Thursdays seemed to be the day Things Happened. She'd just finished convincing Shawn they really didn't need him on their case, he'd accepted her declaration with surprising grace, leaving her a bit suspicious, slightly conflicted, and just relieved enough that when he grasped her hand and leaned in to kiss her, she hadn't resisted the way she might normally to an overt display of affection at the station. It had been at that precise moment that Carlton rounded the corner, his eyes darkening enough to let her know, no… she hadn't imagined anything.

And had left the touch of Shawn's lips to hers feeling… nice.

But not much more than that.

Maybe more importantly, especially in the wake of that searing glance, had left her desperately wanting the decidedly _not-_nice feel of Carlton's mouth against hers again.

Truth was, she'd wanted to beg off today's long-planned excursion, feeling that their long work week and the late night before was a more than legitimate excuse and if she was honest, because she really wanted to seek Carlton out again, tell him she didn't have to take time to consider her options because really, there was only one as far as she was concerned. But the echo of his voice, insisting she _did_ have to take time, along with her damnable conscience chiming in with a hearty agreement, wouldn't let her bail, much as she might have wanted.

And maybe… it was for the best.

"I'm okay, Shawn," she finally said, registering the expression of genuine concern on his face. A wave of affection washed over her as she realized he'd actually set aside his variety of foodstuffs in order to take her hands. He'd even wiped them off, she noticed.

_Really? He took a respite from shoving food in his face and wiped off his grubby little paws and you take this as A Grand Gesture? Girl, that's sad._

She shook off the voice. "I'm just tired. It's been a long week."

"I guess it would be, seeing how often you have to pick up Lassitus Prime's slack and hey—_ow!_"

He tugged his hands free and shook them slightly.

"That's, um… some grip you've got going there, Jules. You _sure_ you're just tired?"

The scrim of red lifted slightly. "Why do you do that?"

"Do what?"

She studied him—the air of genuine befuddlement as he stretched out beside her, one hand taking hers in a cautious hold. He honestly had no clue. It was so ingrained, such a habit, he didn't even realize he was doing it. It just… was.

Whereas whenever Carlton expressed his opinion of Shawn or lobbed an insult, she knew he was damned well aware of his actions. He was _always _aware of his actions, which spoke volumes about his initial kiss as well as his subsequent restraint and his obvious effort to keep from influencing her one way or the other.

Such restraint wasn't anywhere in Shawn's playbook. Then again, Shawn was also completely oblivious to the fact that restraint or strategy of any sort was at all necessary, given he had no idea he had any competition for her.

Well…

"Carlton broke up with Marlowe."

Shawn stared, wide-eyed, for a brief moment before a knowing smirk appeared. "You must be really tired."

"Why?"

"Clearly, you've got that statement backwards."

The scrim of red descended again. "No, I don't," she said as steadily as she could. "_He_ broke up with her."

The smirk grew larger. "Is he planning on joining a monastery? Maybe an order where they let you carry weapons but keep you from talking? That would be awesome, wouldn't it?"

She yanked her hand from his. "Stop it. It's not a joke."

"Hey, hey, hey… I'm sorry." He sat up quickly and recaptured her hand in a grip that was firmer than before. Almost comforting. "I'm sorry, Jules. I get it."

"You do?"

"Yeah." He brushed her hair back behind her ear with a surprisingly gentle touch. "Something like that happens to someone you're close to, even if I don't understand _why_ you're close to Lassie," he added almost to himself, "and you start comparing it to your own situation."

Juliet stared at him, stunned. Holy crap. Was it possible that for once… just once… Shawn was actually exhibiting _insight_? Of a personal nature?

"But Jules, honey," he said more softly, his avid hazel gaze searching her face, "you don't have to worry. I'm not crazy. I would _never_ break up with you."

Juliet continued staring, stunned. Then she laughed. She continued laughing even as Shawn's expression evolved from concern to confusion and back to concern, as his free hand rose to rest against her cheek then her forehead.

"Stop it, I'm fine," she spluttered, batting his hand away.

"Clearly, you're not."

"Oh, I'm incredibly fine." Wiping tears away, she regarded Shawn once more and came to a decision.

"Aren't you even curious about why Carlton might have broken up with Marlowe?"

He leaned back on his hands. "Because he's crazy? Because he's not really happy unless he's miserable and making everyone else around him miserable? Because he knew it would never last and she'd break up with him eventually, so he beat her to the punch just to say he could?"

She couldn't even bring herself to be mad. Mostly because she could completely understand how Shawn would think all of those things. Well, it was time to adjust his worldview. Or not. But it would in part, be up to him.

"Wrong on all counts." Lacing her fingers together in her lap, she took a deep breath. "The reason Carlton broke up with Marlowe is because he has feelings for someone else."

She studied him carefully, watched as his sharp gaze narrowed and his lips pursed. If he stuck his fingers anywhere near his forehead, however, she might just up and slap him. She so wasn't in the mood. He shouldn't have to be psychic to get what she was trying to tell him.

"I wondered when he and Woody would get around to expressing Their Love That Dare Not Speak Its Name."

She would not kill him. She would not. Mostly because Carlton did _not_ need a second jailbird girlfriend for whom he'd have to wait. And murder carried with it a much weightier sentence than theft and conspiracy. On the upside, however, she was fairly certain there wasn't a judge in the county who would saddle her with an unreasonable sentence, given it was Shawn. They might even let her off completely.

Best not to take the risk, however.

"Shawn, I'm serious."

He blinked, the very image of mock-innocence. "So am I. You didn't see them spooned together on our sofa at Psych."

"You'd all been drugged."

"You could argue that's when a person's truest self emerges."

"Which would mean you have a penchant for sandals, shower caps, and stealing gold chains from Ed Lover."

He straightened. "That's not what I meant!"

"Then what _did_ you mean, Shawn?"

"I did ask you to move in with me," he said softly, maybe even a bit uncertainly.

"And retracted it as soon as possible. Don't worry," she added quickly. "It was most definitely the right decision, as evidenced by your reluctance to even claim a drawer at my apartment more than six months later."

"That was when my dad got shot," he protested. "He _needed_ me."

Ah, Revisionist History, Shawn Spencer Style. How refreshing it must be to live in his world.

"We had that discussion _before_ you knew Henry had been shot."

"Oh, no, Jules… I _knew_."

_Now_ the hand rose to his head, leaving Juliet fighting the impulse to punch him. But to do so would further derail the conversation and all she wanted now was to finish it and go home. Alone.

"Okay, look, never mind any of that. No, it's not Woody, which if you would be serious about Carlton for just half a second, you'd know."

"Come on, Jules—don't ask for the impossible. You know I can't be serious about Lassie for even a quarter of a second. A millisecond. A fraction. Wait—which one is smaller? Millisecond? Fraction? Maybe iota—"

"It's me, Shawn."

"…maybe a fractal, since they're typically self-similar patterns, where self-similar means they are the same from near as from far… what?"

Despite the fact that his attention could wander again at the merest provocation, she nevertheless spoke very slowly and very clearly. "Carlton broke up with Marlowe because he has feelings for me."

His expression grew more disbelieving with each word she uttered, culminating in the sort of smirk she might have expected and yet…

There in the depths of those intriguing hazel eyes—the eyes with so many different shades in them she could rarely discern what he was really thinking, under whose spell she'd fallen, seeing them as coolly mysterious—she could read the merest flicker of uncertainty.

He wasn't sure.

Good.

After a charged silence during which he obviously weighed the seriousness of her statement, he finally spoke. "You did request a new partner, right?"

She shrugged. "Why should I?"

"Because… well, because it's not right! It's… it's unethical."

A laugh escaped before she could stop it. "Oh, Shawn… you really don't want to go down _that_ road, do you?"

He looked taken aback for an instant, as if aghast she would imply such a thing. Honestly, she understood his shock. She really had let a lot slide with respect to Shawn, hadn't she? A lot he assumed was okay, because it was him.

"At the very least, it's got to be uncomfortable," he insisted, obviously trying for a different tack and this was the entry Juliet had been waiting for. Her opportunity to clarify the situation for him. What he chose to do with the information would be interesting to say the least.

She shrugged again. "Actually, it's not. Do you want to know why?"

His brows drew together and for once, he looked completely serious. "I don't know. Do I?"

For the first time, she reached for him, resting her hand over his on the blanket. "I think you need to know."

The feel of Shawn's hand under hers brought to mind the memory of their first real embrace—how he'd declared himself so sincerely and how all the frustration and desire that had built between them for so long had finally erupted in a massive explosion. Like fireworks, the display had been brilliant and thrilling, but ultimately, had too-quickly faded, leaving behind only memories and a heavy veil of smoke. In the next instant, she recalled how Carlton had felt, body hard against hers, cradling her between his thighs, so close and yet not nearly close enough, each kiss building in intensity. Her realization that desire had lived between them for a long time, too, slowly building in the background, perfectly suited to the sort of man he was.

No less potentially explosive, she understood, but the sort of charge likelier to leave behind a roaring fire.

"I'm not uncomfortable because what Carlton did has forced me to think." She tightened her hand around his.

"About?"

"About choices."

He snatched his hand away. "What are you saying, Jules?"

Juliet took a deep breath. "I'll be honest, Shawn—I haven't been completely happy with you for a long time." She held up a hand, forestalling his inevitable protest. "However, to be completely fair, I also haven't said anything. Maybe because I didn't realize it or maybe because living with the status quo was just easier because I _knew_ if I tried to tell you I wasn't happy, you wouldn't understand."

He was shaking his head midway through her statement. "You're right. I wouldn't. I was happy. I _am_ happy. I had no reason to think you weren't either."

"So long as you're happy then everyone's happy, right Shawn?"

"Yes! No… I… I guess." His gaze turned inward. "Why doesn't anyone ever tell me they're not happy?"

"Oh, God, they do, Shawn." Henry. Gus. Vick. Carlton, for sure. Personally, she recalled telling him over and over how unhappy she was over his insistence on bringing Frank back into her life. "You simply don't listen. In fact, I think the last time you may have actually _listened_ when someone expressed unhappiness was when Abigail broke up with you."

Leaving him more than a little heartbroken. It was as if he'd decided in the wake of that experience to simply ignore any declaration of unhappiness directed at him. He simply didn't want it in his world.

"Is that what you're telling me?" His eyes glittered dangerously. "That you want to break up?"

"I don't know," she answered, not completely honestly. She did. She wanted to end it so she could leave this place and go to Carlton and put the flame to the charge. But she wanted to honor his request to the best of her ability. She wanted no doubts between them.

"I feel as if I should give you a chance," she said softly.

"For what?"

"To win me back."

"I wasn't aware I'd lost you."

"You haven't. Yet."

He rolled to his feet and shoving his hands in his pockets, strode a few paces away, staring out over the water. Standing there, wind-blown, color streaking across his cheekbones, he gave an admirable impression of an angry man. A man with potentially everything on the line. An illusion diminished as her gaze wandered over the faded Cocoa Puffs t-shirt, the flannel shirt with its frayed cuffs, the battered jeans, and the scuffed Nikes, the overall impression that of a man trapped in time.

Shawn spun and began striding away.

"Don't."

He paused, his back still to her.

"If you go to him now, if you threaten him in any way, this ends right here."

_Dammit, why are you doing this? Let him go. Let him put the nails in the coffin._

_I can't. I promised Carlton._

"You're not leaving me a lot of options, Jules."

She stood and addressed his back. "I'm leaving you the most important one."

With that, she walked away. She had to tell Carlton the game was on.


	7. Everyone Falls

**Everyone Falls**

* * *

Carlton fidgeted with the place setting, adjusting the edges of the napkin, aligning the bread plate at a precise forty-five degree angle to the silverware, blowing on the blade of the knife and surreptitiously wiping it with the edge of the tablecloth until it gleamed with a military shine, and basically, well… fidgeting.

He was an idiot. He knew this. But it was either fidget with tableware or clean his gun and he was reasonably certain that Head Detective or not, he'd probably be thrown out of the charming, beachfront restaurant where he'd agreed to meet Juliet for Sunday brunch.

Her request.

If anything was cause for fidgeting, well, there you had it.

He'd been home the day before, trying to treat it like any other Saturday—trying like hell not to recall the events of the Saturday before and failing miserably—when his phone had rung. To say he was surprised to see Juliet's name flash on the screen would be an understatement. He'd already been aware of her plans with Spencer—more accurately Spencer and Guster, as he'd ascertained after overhearing the idiots discussing their attack strategy for the Fall Festival, although he wondered if _she_ knew that—so no, he wasn't exactly expecting to hear from her.

Expecting, maybe to be called in for emergency duty, since God only knew what havoc those two menaces to society would wreak at a family friendly gathering, but expecting to hear from Juliet? Not so much.

Frankly, the way things had been this week, he wondered if she'd ever speak to him outside a work context ever again. Despite the pep talks from Karen, he hadn't exactly been approachable, although he hadn't been anywhere near as grumpy as on Monday, and with Juliet, he'd been as close to normal as he could muster. But still—an odd mood had existed between them this week. A sense of anticipation coupled with the unknown creating an edgy, sexually-charged tension that a single wrong word or gesture could blow all to hell. As a result, he'd retreated further into himself—gone even more taciturn, which in turn, had left her frustrated and confused. He might not always be able to read women well, but with Juliet, he just _knew_.

He also knew if he'd just taken her to bed the way he'd so desperately wanted, they still might not be talking all that much outside of work, but it would be for far different reasons.

Damned honor.

"Hey."

He glanced up to find Juliet standing a few feet away, looking impossibly lovely and so… so… _Juliet_. Hair falling in soft dark blonde waves, the ends brushing her shoulders, bare in a sea blue dress that clung to her curves and deepened the color of her eyes and set off her pale, perfect skin, and dear God, she was just so… so… Juliet.

Color rose in her cheeks and she smiled in a way that made him aware that a) he was staring and b) she seemed to like it, and c) she was still standing there while he was sitting and staring like a lovestruck idiot.

"Hey." He rose and took a step toward her, freezing as she met him halfway with a light kiss to his cheek. The color in her cheeks deepened as she gazed up at him, as if waiting to see what his reaction would be.

He damn well knew what it _would_ be if they were by themselves, but since they were in a public place, he did the only thing he could. After briefly touching his cheek where her touch still lingered he pulled out the chair adjacent to his, then waiting just until she was comfortably situated, lowered his head to brush an equally light kiss against her mouth.

And even as his brain ordered him to stand down, this was a public place, he didn't even know exactly what was going on, except, oh yeah, she was _kissing him, never mind_, he leaned in again as she stretched up, clearly just as reluctant to break their connection. As her fingertips teased the line of his jaw and his fingers slid into her hair, tilting her head to further deepen the kiss, a subtle cough penetrated the increasingly sensual fog overtaking his brain.

_Son of a bitch. _

Reluctantly, he drew back and sank into his own chair, heat raging through his face and other regions of his body as their waiter moved in to fill their glasses. Normally, he would have been tempted to knock the smirk right off the little pissant's face—would have at least growled a a warning, except he didn't have the mental capacity to do much more than breathe deep and gaze at Juliet, taking in the flushed skin and downcast gaze. His nerve endings prickled with awareness as he watched her fidgeting with the place setting—straightening the bread plate, aligning silverware, fingertips playing about the stem of her water glass in a way that left him shifting uncomfortably, visions of that graceful hand playing over other… _things _flooding his mind.

As soon as the waiter finished filling his glass, he downed the contents in one long swallow and croaked out a hoarse, "More," not even giving one half of a damn at the way the little twerp's smirk grew broader as he refilled the glass before backing away, murmuring he'd be back to take their orders or some such nonsense.

"Wow," she said softly, the ice in her glass rattling slightly as she picked it up.

None too steady himself, he reached for his glass and took another long drink. Setting it down, he sat back in his chair, trying for some semblance of relaxed although who the hell was he kidding? Relaxed was something he'd never been all that good at to begin with and under these circumstances?

"So," he began, grateful that his voice emerged somewhat normally. "Um… what was that?" he asked, feeling helpless and hoping to hell she would help him out.

"Isn't that how people who are dating generally greet each other?" she replied, sounding a little breathless herself as her fingers continued playing with the place setting.

He watched her hands move over the silverware, helpless devolving into slightly desperate. And hopeful. "Dating?"

She shook her head, more a gesture of clearing than denial. "Yes. Dating. But I'm getting ahead of myself."

Okay then. But she'd said 'dating.' Twice. That was a good sign, right?

And she'd kissed him.

Twice.

_Definitely_ a good sign.

With a soft laugh she said, "To think, I wanted to meet in public because I thought it would be safer."

"Good call."

A half-smile turned up the corners of her mouth as that telltale flush overtook her skin once more, extending down her neck to her shoulders and chest. As the delicate rose hue met the edges of her bodice and disappeared, Carlton shifted again, grateful for the cover the tablecloth provided as he imagined that flush overtaking her entire body.

Preferably as a result of being beneath his. Preferably naked.

He quickly gulped down the contents of his water glass, briefly wondering if just dumping it in his lap would help.

Probably not.

Luckily, Smirking Waiter Boy chose that moment to reappear, refilling their glasses and asking if they'd made their choices yet. Juliet, clearly familiar with the menu, asked for Belgian waffles, Carlton, not familiar, but not giving a damn, asked for a Western omelet and coffee for both of them. After the waiter left, Juliet tilted her head and regarded him, her gaze assessing, it seemed.

"What?"

She shrugged. "I love the Western omelet here. It's always a tossup for me between that and the waffles."

"We can share if you like."

A slow smile crossed her face. "You don't care much for waffles, though."

Of course she'd know that. They'd shared enough breakfasts over the years. "I grew up on Eggos. Cheap and easy to make for myself and Lauren. Kind of got sick of them. Maybe it's time, though, to give real waffles a shot—and if you say they're good, well then, I trust you."

Her brows drew together. "But what if you still don't like them? You'll be left with only half an omelet."

"I'm hardly likely to starve." Mildly confused, yet certain she was working her way around to something, he shook his napkin over his lap, buying time. For both of them.

"I told Shawn," she admitted softly.

Okay, then. He'd suspected their meeting today had _something_ to do with the asshat. Using the waiter's timely arrival with their coffee as cover, he considered how to respond given that "I told Shawn," was both telling and ambiguous.

"So… what, exactly, did you tell him?"

She kept her gaze assiduously focused on her spoon as she stirred sugar and cream into her coffee. "I told him about you and Marlowe. And… about you and me."

Blood rushed through his ears, rendering him temporarily unable to hear or speak. Taking a deep breath he finally managed, "Is there a… you and me?"

Lifting her head, she met his gaze. "That's what we're going to find out."

"Dating," he said softly, beginning to understand.

She nodded. "It occurred to me that as well as I know you, and I know it's better than probably almost anyone else, I don't know… _you_. I know you as my partner. I know you as my friend. I know you in social settings with other people around, but I don't know who _you_ are, Carlton. What you're like away from work and other people. What _we'd_ be like, away from work and other people."

Dammit to hell. She was making sense, she was saying they had a chance, but all he was hearing was that he'd have to wait. Still.

Damned honor.

"I understand what you're saying, I guess, but at the same time, how well did you really know Spencer before you—"

She held up a hand, forestalling the rest of his protest. "I know what you're getting at Carlton and you're absolutely right. I really _didn't_ know Shawn outside of work and social situations and frankly, that's been a problem."

He bit back the instinctive _d'uh_, as well as some sort of scathing commentary on how that might not have made a damned bit of difference since once an asshat, always an asshat.

Their meals arrived at that precise moment, giving them a brief respite. He cut his omelet in half and slid it onto her plate while she split her enormous waffle and placed a portion on one of the bread plates before refreshing both of their coffees. For a few moments, they ate in silence, the basics of the routine familiar at least until the moment she cut a small piece of waffle and offered it to him, her expression almost shy. Gaze locked with hers, Carlton slowly leaned forward and closed his mouth around the fork, his taste buds faintly registering the fluffy texture and malty sweetness of the waffle overlaid with the smooth richness of maple syrup and whipped cream, while his baser male instincts reacted to the intimacy of the gesture itself. Knowing she'd been eating from the fork, that she was sharing of herself, even in this most innocent of ways, left him closing his eyes and groaning slightly.

"Good?" she whispered as she slowly drew the fork away, the drag of the tines across his lower lip feeling like a gentle bite.

Carlton opened his eyes and looked into hers, stifling another groan at the way the blue darkened, revealing shades of gray and green normally hidden within. "Yes."

The muscles worked along the column of her throat as she swallowed. "You don't mean the waffle, do you?"

"Nope." He forced a smile, trying to diffuse the charged moment. "But it _is_ better than I expected." He was rewarded with a smile that made his heart pound and left him swearing to whatever deity saw fit to listen to his ramblings on any given day that if given the opportunity, he'd do his damnedest to make her smile like that, every single day of the rest of his life.

After finishing the omelet and the waffle that yeah, was better than expected and made him rethink his opinions on Belgians in general, he poured them fresh cups of coffee and sat back in his chair."

"What now?"

She smiled, clearly also getting the irony that he was the one asking the question this time. "What now is I want to get to know you, Carlton. I want to get to know _us_." Slowly, she extended her hand, palm up. Without hesitation, he took it in his, lifting it to his lips for a brief kiss. Turning her hand, she brushed her fingertips against his cheek. "I think that's fair, don't you?"

Nodding, he said, "And Spencer?" Because he had a feeling fair also extended to the nimrod, much as he might hate it.

Damned honor.

Her brows drew together and if he didn't know better, he'd _swear_ she looked just as disappointed as he felt over his insistence that she be fair and clear-headed in making her choice.

"I told him he hadn't lost me… yet."

God forgive him, he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped. He was fairly certain she didn't even realize the defiant edge that "yet" had contained—a sound that filled him with a decidedly uncharitable glee.

"Carlton—"

"Sorry."

"Are not."

"Okay, no." He kissed her fingers again, just for the sheer joy of feeling her warm skin against his lips. Torturous, too, given how he wanted to feel all of her beneath his lips, wanted to taste every soft curve and crevice and wanted to hear the sounds she'd make as he did.

"God, Carlton," she breathed, as the tip of his tongue teased a line between two of her fingers. "You're making it very hard to uphold my promise to you—to give him a chance and make a fair choice."

_God._

_Damned._

_Honor._

With a sigh, he lowered their hands to the table, although he refused to let go. Not that she seemed at all anxious to release him, either, shifting her hold so their fingers were tightly linked.

"I'm giving him a chance," she said, her voice husky. "He'll get the opportunity to win me, to remind me why I fell for him in the first place, but truthfully, right now it feels like it's going to be a futile battle." Her free hand covered their joined ones on the table. "I have to be honest, though, Carlton, I'm a little scared. Whatever happens, so much is going to change. Between us. And maybe that's the most telling thing. It's terrifying to realize I'm okay with potentially losing Shawn. But I can't lose you."

Carlton lifted his free hand, trembling slightly, to brush her hair back from her face. "I'm going to do my best to make certain those changes are all good. And you're for damned sure never going to lose me."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Carlton," she said, her voice soft, but firm. "I couldn't take it." Her fingers tightened around his. "Not from you."

Seagulls wheeled overhead, anxious cawing filling the silence as around them, silverware clinked against china and the smells of food mingled with fresh salty breezes. In the midst of all the motion, Juliet clung to his hand, her gaze searching. In that moment Carlton could see the young girl, waiting for a father who failed to show, who disappointed her time and again. Could see the young woman, falling under the spell of yet another charlatan, disappointed time and again. Could see the woman she'd become—a little cynical, a little afraid, yet still willing for all that, to trust. To open her heart.

To him.

And right then, he realized how very alike they actually were. And how very unwilling he was to lose this particular battle.

"Have I ever lied to you, Juliet?"

Slowly, she shook her head.

"I never will. That's a promise you can count on."

She pressed her lips together, swallowed again.

"I believe you," she whispered.

Releasing the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, he leaned back in his chair, although he refused to relinquish her hand. He smiled as a plan took shape in his mind, as perfectly formed as if he'd been formulating it for years and who knows? Maybe he had.

And yet, it was such a simple plan.

"What would you like to do?"

She blinked, as if emerging from a trance. "Do?"

"You said you wanted to get to know me. Know us." He lifted a shoulder. "So, with that in mind, I'd like to make plans with you to do something."

"Like… a date?"

He nodded.

"And you want to know what _I _want to do?"

A flash of anger shot through him at the utter shock in her tone, but he forced himself to remain relaxed, merely nodding.

"Well, um…" Once more pink rose to her cheeks as she bit her lip. "You might think it's silly."

"I might," he said agreeably. "Doesn't mean it is, though."

Her hands cupped his still, warm and vibrant, the thumb of one tracing a devastating pattern along his skin.

"I've…" Her shoulders rose and fell. "I've always wanted to take one of those horseback rides along the beach. You know… at sunset?" Her voice gained strength as she looked past him to the ocean. "Maybe with a picnic dinner by a bonfire?"

Anger shot through him once more watching her back stiffen and her face go carefully blank as she continued staring past him, although he could tell, she wasn't seeing a damned thing.

Son of a bitch.

Just… son of a _bitch_.

"It's going to have to wait." Before she could retreat further, he reached out and cupped her cheek, turning her to face him. "I'll plan it for next Saturday," he added, feeling her gradually relax beneath his touch. "But I would like to take you out before then."

"Yeah?" she breathed, her eyes deepening once more to that intoxicating blend of dark blue and gray and green that left him feeling a little breathless himself.

"Yeah." Because he was clearly a masochist of the highest order, he allowed his thumb to tease the full curve of her lower lip, his stomach clenching as he felt her tongue emerge, stroking the pad before she bit down gently.

"Somewhere public," he managed, hating himself yet again.

He jerked in his chair as he felt her bare foot—and when in hell had she slipped out of her shoes?—creep beneath the cuff of his khakis to stroke his ankle. A moment later, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his cheek, alongside his ear.

"You and your damned honor," she murmured, her breath a tormenting caress.

She had _no_ idea.


	8. Once Upon Another Time

**Once Upon Another Time**

* * *

Twilight descended around Juliet as she lay on her sofa, thinking.

Even hours later, she could still hear Carlton asking, _"What would you like to do?_" Could still feel the warm caress of his tongue as it teased her fingers. Could still see the blissful expression that had overtaken his face as she fed him that single bite of waffle, lashes dark against skin ever so faintly dusted with freckles and why hadn't she ever noticed that little detail before? All of a sudden, they seemed so obvious, those pale marks, scattered across the line of his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose, a faint trail drawing her eye down the column of his throat and to the neck of his button down open, God help her, one button further than on normal workdays and unobscured by a tie. There, the freckles had disappeared into dark hair and it had been all she could do to not reach out and continue unbuttoning his shirt, desperate to see where the freckles might reemerge.

Among other things.

Then he'd opened those oh-so-blue eyes and she'd found herself unable to breathe at the emotion so clearly reflected in them—equal parts heat and desire—as if he'd felt her gaze undressing him and didn't mind a damned bit. An instant later, it changed, the blue shifting to something dark and just a little dangerous, sending a pleasurable chill shivering down her spine. Juliet knew, in years to come, she'd likely commend herself for her restraint, given she'd been seriously considering behavior most unbecoming for an officer of the law, but right now?

Restraint _sucked._

On impulse she reached for her phone, smiling as he picked up before the first ring had even died away.

"That was fast."

"Only thing I ever intend to do fast where you're concerned."

Juliet's throat immediately went dry. "Why Carlton, if I didn't know better, I'd say you were flirting."

"Flirting? No. Just stating facts." Through the phone his voice was low and husky, just this side of a growl and Juliet was grateful for the darkness falling around her, even though there was no one there to see how she shifted on the sofa, groping for a throw pillow to hold tight against her chest.

"Carlton," she breathed.

"It's like I told you earlier," he continued in that devastating voice. "It may have been my addlebrained idea that you should be fair and make your choice with a clear conscience, but now that you know how I feel and now that you've told Spencer what's up, I see no point in hiding what I'm thinking." His voice dropped another notch. "I'm damned tired of hiding, Juliet."

A surprising note of vulnerability colored his words, making her clutch the pillow tighter.

"You really mean it," she whispered around the lump in her throat.

"Of course I do. Have you ever known me to say anything I don't mean?"

She shook her head as if he was right there beside her. Could see her. "No," she said, wishing like hell he _was_ there. "I mean, you really meant it when you said you were tired of hiding." Her fingers curled into the pillow. "How…" She took a deep breath. "How you feel."

A long charged silence as he clearly realized just how much he'd revealed. A slow breath carried through the phone before he said, "Yeah."

Sudden tears pricked the backs of her eyes even as a fresh wave of desire washed over her. "God, Carlton."

"Don't, Juliet."

"What?"

"Please don't ask me to come over, don't ask to come over here, just… don't. Not yet." His voice was gentle and more than a little desperate and in it, she could hear his retreat. He was letting her see, but he was scared, too. He didn't want her giving herself over until she was absolutely sure as much for his sake as hers.

"Why doesn't anyone ever give you credit for how strong you are?"

His response was immediate and certain. "You do."

"Do I?" she said wonderingly. "I don't know about that."

"Every time you go in side by side with me on a bust, every time you back me up in an interrogation, every time you've... shared a confidence with me, you let me know I'm someone you can trust. That you can rely on. It—

He stopped short and it wasn't until she prompted him with a gentle, "What is it, Carlton?" that he went on.

"It makes me feel strong," he admitted quietly.

Silence fell, broken only by the almost imperceptible hum of the connection and words yet to be spoken. Words that could wait until they were together again. And much as she wanted to be with Carlton in _that_ moment, Juliet nevertheless felt an almost indescribable sensation of fulfillment. This was what she'd longed for. What had been missing for so much of her life. That feeling of connection—of being granted entry into carefully guarded territory. Of belonging to someone so completely and having them belong to her, their secrets weren't so much secrets as layers, meant to be discovered and shared without fear or hesitation.

She'd thought, because Shawn seemed so mysterious and mercurial and exuberantly brilliant, that what lay hidden would be so much more interesting to discover than with someone like Carlton who seemed so stolid and steady and what you see is what you get.

Lord, but she'd been stupid.

Not that the latter wasn't true with Carlton. There was no artifice or guile about the man. But what she was very quickly learning was that while what he showed the world was but a heavily fortified wall and what lay behind might not be all that different from what he allowed the world to see, it was nevertheless richly layered with texture and nuance.

Or as Nana Mary would have said, "Still waters run deep."

She also knew what Nana Mary would have said about Shawn: "All show, no substance."

To be fair—and dammit, she was actually starting to get really tired of _fair_—Shawn was far too intelligent to not have something of substance to him, but at the same time, Juliet was starting to harbor the uncomfortable suspicion that maybe there just wasn't a whole lot more to Shawn than what he showed. That he truly was the epitome of "What you see is what you get."

Or… worse still—

If there was something of substance hidden beneath the flashy surface, it might not be worth uncovering.

That she might not _like_ what she'd find.

The realization left her sad, but at the same time, somewhat relieved. The choice she would make was becoming ever more clear—revealing itself faster than she might have imagined, even in the wake of their kisses the week before and the brunch earlier today. But in order to reassure the man breathing steadily on the other end of the line, she would have to take the time he'd requested.

She would have to be fair, dammit.

And be absolutely certain.

He broke the silence. "Just so you know, it's taking every ounce of willpower I've got to not get in my car right now and go to you."

And he sounded so certain and there was so much damned longing in his voice—longing she felt filling her chest with an intense wave of desire—that it would have been easy to throw caution to the winds and say, _yes. Yes, please, come over and don't ever leave_.

Thankfully—or not—at that precise moment, a sharp knock sounded at her door, bringing with it a reminder.

"Dammit." She sat up and reached over to the end table to switch on the lamp.

"You should answer that."

"Yeah," she sighed. "It's—"

"You don't need to tell me," he broke in. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"I'll bring coffee," she replied, feeling an unexpected pang as the call went silent. He knew who was at the door and he was letting her go. With a sigh, she tossed the phone to the steamer trunk that served as her coffee table and went to open the door. As expected, there stood Shawn, holding a steaming pizza box in one hand and a bag from Calcavecchio's in the other.

"Why didn't you use your key?" she asked as she regarded him.

"You've never given me one," he replied easily.

She lifted a brow. "Why didn't you use your key?" she repeated, her tone dry.

To his credit, a faint blush colored his face, even as he pursed his lips in the expression she'd long ago recognized as his precursor to, if not a lie, then a creative manipulation of the truth.

"I'll give it back to you before I leave," he finally replied.

So. Deflection with a tacit admission of truth. That was a switch. Something of a sign that he was taking her seriously.

His brows drew together as she opened the door wider and peered past his shoulder.

"What are you looking for?"

"Gus."

"Jules, Jules…" He smiled in the way she'd once found so irresistibly charming. "Tonight's just for us, remember? I promised."

Yes he had. When he'd called the night before to make an actual date of the sort they hadn't enjoyed in far too long, he'd assured her it would just be the two of them, but an assurance from Shawn rarely jibed with the reality of a situation. The fact that Gus wasn't lurking anywhere about was yet another sign of his intent. As was the dark green knit shirt that brought out the green in his eyes and the jeans that were actually clean. He still sported his usual stubble and his hair still looked like something out of Teen Beat, circa 1997, but she couldn't deny he'd at least gone to _some_ effort. For him.

And yet… she couldn't bring herself to feel a whole lot more than an idle curiosity combined with a sense of… foreboding, maybe?

Like she was expecting the glittery New Year's ball in Times Square to drop—straight onto her head.

_That doesn't sound very fair._

She sighed as he dropped a kiss on her cheek and swept past her into the living room where he deposited the food on the trunk before disappearing into the kitchen. A moment later he emerged holding plates—real ones—and silverware and even a kitchen towel which he spread beneath the hot pizza box so as to protect the trunk's antique surface. A gesture she'd asked of him many a time and that he'd regularly ignored, responding to her protests with, "It's use that gives it _patina_, Jules," in a tone implying she was just way too rigid and uptight.

Once upon a time she might have agreed. For someone in her twenties, she _had_ led a rather structured life. Not that she was against spontaneity, but for the most part, she _liked_ routine and order and they were invaluable traits in her career.

At thirty-one, she regarded routine and order as just another form of discipline and as a responsible adult, she maintained a vested interest in protecting _her_ possessions. Ones she'd worked hard for. That trunk had been her first big "adult" purchases once she'd become a cop. Entranced by the supple leather and mellow brass fittings and the faded and worn travel stickers adorning the sides, she'd _spontaneously_ plunked down the majority of her first paycheck and dragged the old girl home. That trunk had a history. One she felt a need to protect.

Shawn had plenty of possessions he valued, she knew. But how many of them had he actually worked for?

As she studied him bustling about, putting out garlic rolls and salad and popping the caps off beer bottles, she realized the only thing she _knew_ for a fact he'd ever actually worked for was Psych. Everything else had always come entirely too easily.

_What about your relationship? You could hardly say that's been easy._

_Not for me, no—I used to think being without him hurt, but being with him has hurt, too. I had to hide the relationship. I risked my job. I _lied _to Carlton. But what did Shawn really have to do? Said when he thought of me, he actually considered buying a car and that was all she wrote. Capitulation from me and Easy Street for him. _

_Everything's so damned easy for him. _

"Jules?"

She snapped out of her thoughts to find him seated on the sofa holding a prepared plate. And he wasn't even eating yet so it must be one he fixed for her.

How novel.

_Maybe he actually sees this as something to work for._

Even as she considered that possibility, an insistent _Too little, too late,_ flashed in its wake.

As he patted the cushion invitingly, she forced herself to smile and join him. Almost immediately, however, her smile faded as she took the plate he offered with the same pride as a kindergartener presenting his first macaroni noodle art project.

"What? I got all your favorites."

"Um…" He was trying. She knew he was. And while in the past that might have been enough for her to subvert her own preferences, that simply wasn't going to work any longer. Not only did she have to be fair—she had to be honest.

"Well, yes… I love the Caesar salad and the garlic rolls are great, but—"

"But what?"

"I'm not a fan of pineapple on pizza. That's your favorite."

"But you've always loved it, too."

"No, I never have. I told you the first time we ordered pizza that I didn't care for it—you insisted I'd love Calcavecchio's take on it with the barbecue sauce and Italian sausage, so I said I'd give it a try."

"And you loved it." Beneath the dismay she could detect the merest hint of peevishness.

She shook her head. "I told you I didn't. And every time after, I said I'd rather order something different, but every time you insisted I wasn't being fair. That I hadn't given it enough of a chance." She shrugged. "Frankly, it was easier to let you keep ordering it and just pick the pineapple off."

Not to mention, she'd generally only nibble at one slice and load up on salad, thereby leaving more leftover pizza for him.

"Well, why didn't you _say_ anything?"

As she lifted her eyebrows, he retreated somewhat, taking the plate from her and sliding the slice back into the box. "Okay, okay… never mind. Not important. What's important is you're telling me _now_. What kind of pizza would you like?"

"Shawn—"

"No, Jules." He closed the lid on the box and disappeared once more into the kitchen. A moment later, he reappeared, phone in hand. "I'll just take that one into the office tomorrow. It won't be as good as fresh, but Gus won't care. What pizza do _you_ want, honey?"

_Be fair, be fair, be fair…_

"Well… I like a lot of their seasonal artisan pizzas."

He made a face. "The weird ones?"

Right. Because pineapple and Italian sausage was such a run-of-the-mill combo. "They're different, I'll grant you, but some of the combinations are amazingly good."

"Like what?" His gaze was intent as he waited, finger poised on what was no doubt the speed dial for Calcavecchio's.

Increasingly annoyed yet intrigued by this sudden determination to please her, she finally admitted, "The smoked balsamic-soaked pear, gorgonzola, and artisanal salumi."

"But… pear is a _fruit_. On pizza?" His horror was so real, it was nearly palpable. And really, rather hilarious if she hadn't been growing more aggravated with each passing second.

She stood, crossing her arms. "And what, exactly, do you think pineapple is, Shawn?"

"A food group unto itself."

She shook her head. "You know what, never mind… maybe we should just try this another day."

_Or not._

"No, no… Jules, I'm sorry, I'm sorry." He held his hands up as in supplication, then an instant later, was on the phone, placing the order in a rapid hushed tone, as if terrified she'd change her mind at any given moment.

The first thing he'd gotten right tonight.

"It'll be here in fifteen minutes," he assured her after he hung up. "Why don't we just have salad and rolls and start the movie?"

Okay, she could grant him that much. "What'd did you bring?"

He whipped the case out with a flourish while her jaw dropped in horror.

_"Magic Mike,_" he announced with a giant, I-did-_so_-good grin. He crossed to her DVD player. "Man candy for you, ideas for this year's Halloween costume for me. The waterfront business association is hosting Trick or Treating this year for the city kids."

Her stomach lurched uncomfortably, making it difficult to swallow the bite of salad she'd hurriedly shoved into her mouth to forestall saying, well… anything.

Because what _was_ there to say?

Wait. She had to say _something_.

"Um… Shawn? Don't you think a costume like that's maybe a little… _inappropriate_ for someone your age?"

He shot her a disbelieving glance. "That Matt Bomer guy's my age and Matthew McConaughey's older."

And both were built like nobody's business, while Shawn… wasn't. And even if he was, it was just… no. Dear _God_, no. She'd have to pass along his intent to Gus. He'd be just as horrified—not to mention, concerned for public safety. Maybe he could change Shawn's mind. Or drug him. Or something.

_What happened to that being honest thing?_

_You ever hear of 'choose your battles?' _

Besides, she shouldn't _have _to point out to him the utter inappropriateness of such a getup.

She knew she wouldn't have to with Carlton.

She sighed and returned her attention to the salad while he settled beside her and started the movie. A few minutes later, the pizza arrived, smelling heavenly and looking even better, but her pleasure was tempered somewhat by the faces Shawn made as soon as he lifted the lid. Not to mention, the inexorably long time he took to chew the first bite he took, swallowing noisily. The second bite he didn't even bother swallowing, just spitting it out into one napkin while he scrubbed at his tongue with another before taking a swig of beer.

"Oh, for God's sake, Shawn—just go get a slice of the pineapple pizza. Just because I don't like it doesn't mean it bothers me to see you eat it."

He slumped back into the sofa cushions. "It's just going to be cold now."

"I could have turned on the oven, you know."

Crossing his arms, he kept his gaze focused on the television screen and the oiled, gyrating torsos. She couldn't shake the uncomfortable notion he was contemplating what it would cost to install a lighted stage in the Psych offices.

"I didn't want you to go to any trouble."

Unbidden, her conversation with Carlton sprang to mind. His willingness to try the waffle he wasn't sure he'd like and his lack of concern that he might not. Almost immediately followed by the image of him taking the bite from her fork, eyes closed and blissful smile turning up the corners of his normally stern mouth. A bliss that had nothing to do with food and everything to do with _her_. His enjoyment in simply being with her.

She drained her beer, attempting to cool off the sudden heat taking over her midsection. "Look, seriously, maybe we should just call it a night."

He glanced up, alarm widening his eyes. "No—wait, Jules—I'm sorry."

Sudden exhaustion obliterated the last of the desire. "How many times have you already said that tonight?"

"I know. I'm so—" As her eyebrows rose he stopped short. "Look, I'm really not all that hungry anyway."

As her eyebrows rose further he cringed.

"Okay, I'll just wind up eating later. But right now, I really would like to spend some time with you. Let's just finish watching the movie and then I'll go because I know you have an early morning."

There was a first. Concern for the fact that her job operated on an actual schedule.

_Be fair…_

With a sigh, she nodded. As the move resumed, she quickly finished her pizza, trying to ignore the disbelieving glances Shawn shot her direction. Luckily, it would be just as good leftover, so she'd have dinner for at least the next couple of days. She wouldn't take it in for lunch, though. Although she was curious as to what Carlton would think of the pizza, she would prefer he tried it fresh. Not to mention, it seemed wrong to offer him food that had been bought by Shawn—if technically paid for by Gus and if Shawn thought she'd missed his use of Gus' credit card when he ordered the replacement pizza…

As soon as she set her plate down, Shawn reached for her, putting one arm around her shoulders and taking one of her hands in his free one. Initially she tensed, but full of good food and somewhat mesmerized by oiled, gyrating bodies, she relaxed, at least, until the moment he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the back, the tip of his tongue teasing her skin.

As casually as possible, she slid her hand from his and folded both in her lap, surreptitiously wiping where he'd kissed. It had felt too intimate. Too… close.

Too similar to Carlton's earlier caress and yet, so different.

So _not_ Carlton.

And the idea of allowing Shawn to touch her with that sort of familiarity all of a sudden seemed... wrong.

Juliet remained quiet and still throughout the remainder of the movie, even though the weight of Shawn's arm along her shoulders grew progressively heavier and more oppressive.

The inevitable was staring her right in the face and she was okay with that, really. More than okay. Whatever happened with Carlton, she and Shawn…

Were done.


	9. Stay With Me

**Stay With Me**

* * *

"What's the matter?" Carlton asked as he took the venti-sized cup from Juliet.

"Nothing." She sank into the chair beside his desk and took a long restorative sip from her cup, closing her eyes as the caffeine hit her system.

"Liar," he retorted, albeit quietly and laced more with concern than actual heat. He doubted anyone else would notice the air of something… _off _about Juliet, but then, he had the benefit of many years of close contact that few others could boast along with the whole loving her thing, which had a way of sharpening his senses to an almost freakish level where she was concerned. While she'd admittedly done an admirable job with her makeup, he could still detect faint circles beneath her eyes and maybe more importantly, he could _see_ the air of exhaustion clinging to her like a foul miasma.

A foul, Spencer-shaped miasma.

"What'd he do?"

A charge ran through him at the touch of her hand to his where it had automatically gone to his weapon.

"Nothing."

While her head shake was decisive, the shadow that passed across her face left him slightly uneasy and more than a little reluctant to remove his hand from the Glock. At her look, however, he allowed it to fall away, heat rushing to his face as she subtly shifted her hand, turning to grasp his—quick enough no one would notice, but long enough for reassurance.

"I swear, Carlton," she said, her gaze direct and unflinchingly honest. "He didn't do anything other than show up for a date."

Okay.

Yet another seemingly direct statement, but because it was Spencer, also equally ambiguous.

The night before he'd actually been grateful—for a brief, insane moment—for Spencer's timing, given that despite all of Carlton's noble insistences that he and Juliet couldn't be together just yet, he'd still been about 3.2 seconds away from telling all his honorable intentions to go take a flying leap. After all, impulse had served him pretty well so far.

But dammit, holding off, no matter how difficult, remained the right thing to do. Juliet had been absolutely correct that they needed to learn what they were like together in a non-Biblical/crazed hormone-driven sense, especially since if they did make a go of a long-term relationship, they were likely to spend a lot more time out of bed and coexisting, than in bed and otherwise occupied. Improbable though it seemed at the moment.

So yes. Holding off.

Didn't mean he had to _like_ it.

Especially when the right thing involved allowing Asshatticus Maximus his equal opportunity.

Juliet propped her elbow on his desk and dropped her chin to her hand with an exhausted sigh that set his sensors right back to high alert.

"Okay, look, I promise won't shoot him—this time," he amended, "but you have to tell me what he did because dammit, Juliet, I _know_ he did something. Unless—" He swallowed hard. "It was something I did?"

At that, she sat up. "_No_."

After a quick glance around, she reached for his hand and squeezed it once more then with a subtle cock of her head, indicated they should leave the bullpen. He followed her outside and around the building to a bench set well off the more traveled footpaths. Once they were both seated, she immediately took his coffee and set it on the ground along with hers before cupping his face between her warm palms.

Her gaze intent and searching she said, "The only thing you've done is you _haven't_ kissed me this morning."

"Oh." That was all he had time to say before she drew his head down and pressed her mouth to his The day before, they'd said goodbye with a lingering kiss, the caress gentle almost to the point of innocence as if in deference to both their public locale and the razor's edge they were both riding. This morning, however, Juliet seemed to want more from him. No hesitation, none of yesterday's gentleness, but a full-on, _God, I want you,_ kiss, her tongue probing for entry he was more than happy to grant despite the fact they could still easily be caught, seclusion be damned. Folding her more fully into his arms, he explored her mouth with his, tongue stroking hers aggressively, tasting coffee and below that, a familiar sweet-sharp bite of cinnamon.

"You changed your toothpaste," he murmured against her mouth before kissing her harder, relishing the spicy flavor.

"You're allergic to mint," she whispered a few seconds later when she came up for air. "I don't want anything coming between us."

With a sound just shy of a growl, he pulled her closer, his teeth tugging at her lower lip until she whimpered and returned the gesture in kind, her sharp bite making his groin tighten almost to the point of pain. It was that flash of pain, however, that brought him back to his senses—caused him to break the kiss, although he kept his arms around her, stroking her hair as she drew several shuddering breaths.

"What's going on, baby?"

She drew back although she maintained a tight hold on his hand, the slightest of tremors vibrating against his skin. She was definitely calmer, but there still remained an air of anxiousness about her that kept him on edge. This was his Juliet and he _hated_ not everything being right in her world.

"I wasn't going to tell you yet, not because I wanted to hide anything, but because I didn't want you thinking I wasn't being fair or taking as much time as you felt I should—"

The tiny hairs at the back of his neck rose. His instincts had been right on. This was about Spencer. And yet the foreboding that might have once instantly appeared, perched on his shoulder and insidiously whispering that once again, _he_ was on the losing end, remained tellingly quiet.

He supposed that being on the receiving end of the sort of kiss they'd just shared had a way of obliterating any lingering doubts.

"I broke things off with Shawn last night. Officially." She closed her eyes and sighed, the gesture speaking more to exhaustion than sadness or regret. In a low voice she said, "I think I knew it was over the first time you kissed me. You shouldn't have affected me that way. He _never _affected me that way. But I wouldn't have ever known it if you hadn't kissed me."

Carlton's heart pounded as she opened her eyes, a telltale dampness deepening the blue and adding a translucence that allowed him to see emotions reflected within the stunning blue he would never have dared let himself imagine. Emotions he suspected she wasn't even completely aware of herself. Not yet.

"Obviously, I didn't say anything like that to him, but of course, he knows it has to do with you. He… didn't take it well."

Carlton spoke very slowly, enunciating each word with quiet precision. "Did he do _anything_ to you?" While he forced himself to remain absolutely still and calm, his nerves thrummed and his skin prickled with unease.

"Only if you count nearly talking me to death." She scooted in under his arm and dropped her head to his shoulder with a tired sigh. "He kept saying I was making a huge mistake and when I insisted that no, I was quite certain I wasn't, he proceeded to list the progression of our relationship in chronological order complete with interpretive dance breaks to illustrate how we were meant to be together."

"Oh, for crap's sake," Carlton muttered.

"When I said all he was doing was actually illustrating too many reasons we should never have been together, he shifted gears and started attacking you." Her voice dropped. "He said you were bad relationship material because you'd cheated on Victoria with your former partner. And that if you'd done it once, you'd do it again."

A scrim of red obscured Carlton's vision as his free hand clenched the edges of the bench, wood digging into his palm, sharp and aggravating. Just like a certain gel-head Not like it came as any big surprise, though. He, more than anyone, was aware of Spencer's capability for playing dirty, especially when something he desperately wanted was at stake.

"I don't suppose he happened to mention that at the time I… had my relationship, I'd been separated from Victoria for over a year?"

She shook her head, but before he could add anything else in his defense—not that there was anything really _to_ say, since in typical Spencer fashion, he'd managed to keep enough truth in his accusation to make it stick—she spoke again.

"He didn't have to." Shifting on the bench, she lifted her free hand to his face. "Since he seems to have forgotten that he'd filled me in on that tidbit a long time ago. Maybe he really _is_ psychic," she said, her tone wondering. "Seeing how he was clearly trying to warn me off you even that far back. Somehow, he must have known."

Her unexpected doubt in Spencer's so-called _ability_ barely registered as her fingertips slowly traced the contours of his face.

"It wasn't easy for you."

His mouth parted slightly at her tone—declarative rather than questioning. And hellaciously fierce.

"No." His hand rose to cover hers on his cheek. "Nothing about that time was easy." Carlton studied Juliet's sweet, beautiful, trusting features, memorizing them for the thousandth time. For the first time, envisioning her as she would appear far in the future. Still sweet. Still beautiful. Still trusting.

Still his.

For the first time, he could envision _his_ future with Juliet.

"Shawn's wrong, you know." Her other hand rose to his opposite cheek, framing his face in reassuring warmth and softness underscored with a tensile strength. "I know you. I know what happened with Victoria and Lucinda was an extraordinary series of events, a lot of it beyond your control. I know that Shawn caused the dissolution of your relationship with Lucinda. And I know nothing like that will _ever_ happen again."

Dear God—for all she said _he_ was the strong one, she was completely selling herself short. Her unwavering certainty and ferocious belief in him cutting straight to the heart of a fear that had lingered since his divorce and through too damned many useless therapy sessions. Especially considering what had prompted him to end his relationship with Marlowe had been acknowledgment of his longstanding feelings for Juliet and that they weren't going away any time soon—as in, ever.

Juliet's faith in him—in them—brought an inescapable fact into sharp, clear focus.

It was supposed to have been Juliet all along.

With a quiet sigh, he turned his head and pressed his lips to her palm in a kiss that, for all the tenderness and innocence inherence in the gesture, contained an emotion and depth and intimacy that eclipsed even the most intense of their previous kisses.

He loved her. So damned much.

"Carlton?"

"Hm?" he murmured against her palm, his gut tightening as her shiver traveled from her body to his.

"Just because I broke up with Shawn doesn't mean you're off the hook, you know."

He lifted a curious eyebrow as his tongue traced the lines on her palm.

Another shiver passed through her body even as a mischievous smile turned up the corners of her mouth.

In a slightly breathless voice, she managed, "Dating…"

He'd suspected as much. Funny, though, how the prospect of getting to know each other no longer seemed like such a daunting prospect. Still a bit terrifying, because he was who he was and even at his best, he was not an easy man, but this was Juliet. Who trusted him. Who knew _him_.

The sound of voices growing closer had them pulling apart and reaching for their now-cold coffees. By the time a pair of uniforms rounded the corner, he and Juliet were standing and walking back the way they'd come, exchanging nods as they crossed paths with the young officers who didn't give them a second look. Quiet, yet with anticipation—a heightened awareness—humming between them, they returned to the bullpen and the business of being detectives.

Mid-morning, Carlton glanced up from his computer and the files he'd been working his way through to find Juliet, head down, scribbling on a legal pad as she, too, perused files for their case. Even obviously exhausted, with the overhead fluorescents casting a harsh light over the dark shadows beneath her eyes and the tired lines of her face, she was simply the most luminescent woman Carlton had ever seen.

Yeah, he knew he had it bad.

In retrospect, he understood he'd come to terms with that a hell of a long time ago.

Picking up his cell, he quickly texted, _Too tired for dinner tonight?_

Setting the phone aside, he pretended to return his attention to his computer screen, but kept his head turned just far enough to be able to keep Juliet at the edge of his peripheral vision. As she picked up her phone and read the message she smiled—a small private smile that caused the now familiar warmth to invade his midsection, heightening anticipation. A moment later, his phone buzzed.

_A date? A proper one?_

He smiled and typed: _A proper one. I'll pick you up at your place. We can go wherever you like. But only if you're not too tired._

He hit Send and watched as the small smile evolved into something that made his heart ache even as it sent the same flare of anger he'd felt as she'd so tentatively made her request for the sunset horseback ride shooting through him. Such a simple offer should _not_ prompt such heartbreaking gratitude. Damn Spencer.

Damn the miserable son of a bitch for so much.

His phone buzzed.

_Italian?_

He quickly texted back: _Great. I love Italian._

As he turned to open a web page to a restaurant search engine his phone buzzed once again—he glanced down, expecting a restaurant suggestion or a time. What he read made his heart stutter.

_I love you._


	10. Cowboy Take Me Away

**Cowboy Take Me Away**

**AN: ** 'Tis a bit shorter than expected but hopefully the continuation will be a bit lengthier.

* * *

Juliet lay propped on an elbow, head resting in her hand as she watched firelight play across the breadth of Carlton's shoulders and the unique angles and planes of his face, and lighting the blue of his eyes with an intriguing amber cast that practically made them glow. He really was a lovely, _lovely_ man, although he'd deny it if mentioned. Vehemently. Probably demand it be taken back. While wielding his Glock for emphasis. So damned unwilling to believe the obvious sometimes.

She sighed, warm and sated, yet at the same time, buzzing with the anticipation that had grown and magnified throughout the week until she felt just about ready to crawl out of her own skin.

And straight into his.

Their Italian dinner in the wake of her unexpected confession had been a beautiful, memorable thing, flavored with the richness of wine and cream and the kisses he'd permitted himself but without a single word about her confession. To say she'd been surprised would be understating it. She'd been so certain he'd want to dissect, to question, to make certain _she_ was sure. Had been prepared to reassure him that no, it wasn't a mistake or a spur of the moment sentiment, that she really and truly meant it, she really and truly loved him and was well on her way to falling _in_ love with him—but as the evening wore on, she came to a startling realization: he didn't _need_ the reassurance.

Her everyday Carlton—the tense analytical man, the partner who questioned everything—had in private given way to the Carlton confident enough to kiss her just because. Who'd confessed to loving her. Who'd admitted he wanted nothing more than to fall in love with her. Who'd been strong enough to step back and allow her the space to make her choice regardless of what it might cost.

Juliet knew the words would eventually be said out loud—she _wanted_ to say them out loud and hear them said back in that husky tone he seemed to reserve just for her—but for the moment, it was enough to bask in the knowledge of their truth. Carlton simply didn't _need_ to ask her if she meant it or was sure. He trusted her.

As a result, the rest of the week had served as something of a revelation for Juliet. The Italian dinner had in turn led to other dinners, one night followed by a movie—that they both _agreed on_—on another, a bookstore visit, complete with good-natured debate as they browsed the aisles, followed by coffee and dessert as they quietly leafed through their new purchases. No boredom, no sense of restlessness barely restrained by a sense of obligation and a desire to be doing anything else. No stupid shenanigans that derailed the evening into the sort of frenetic chaos and craziness she was often too tired to deal with yet too tired to protest against. Just a lovely, comfortable sense of… nice.

Now, the week had culminated with the date she'd most been looking forward to—the sunset beach ride, complete with a full-out gallop that had left her breathless as much from the way he looked, his entire being suffused with wild joy as he handled the big bay gelding with the natural ease of a born horseman, as from the exhilaration of the ride itself, followed by a picnic dinner by a crackling, intimate bonfire, woodsmoke combining with the salty ocean breezes in a heady cocktail.

Best. Date. Ever.

She recalled making the request, so terrified he'd mock or find a way to downplay it or redirect it to something he really wanted to do instead, followed by the overwhelming relief when he'd easily agreed to her request. She recalled, too, the vague sense of shame she'd felt in the wake of the relief. That had been so monumentally unfair of her—projecting what would have been a typical experience with Shawn onto Carlton—but to his credit, he'd not only understood the source of her fear, he'd made an effort to downplay the anger he'd so obviously felt on her behalf and had instead endeavored to give her exactly what she wanted. Not in a competitive, wanting-to-top-Shawn sense—but simply out of an intense desire to please her.

Which brought her to another startling realization—how, when she compared the new reality of their dating life with their normal, everyday interactions…there wasn't any real discernible difference. Obviously, they weren't sucking face in the middle of the bullpen and he wasn't slapping her ass in passing as Shawn had attempted one unfortunate day. She had apologized for nearly dislocating his shoulder when she pinned him up against the wall but wasn't entirely certain he'd ever completely forgiven her. That was okay. She hadn't quite forgiven him either. For a lot.

But with Carlton… She'd get his coffee or he would get hers as had long been their habit and if their fingers brushed as cups passed between them, well, they'd done that before, just perhaps with a bit less intent and not quite so many glances held an instant longer than necessary. They still went to lunch at places they both enjoyed and squabbled over cases, sometimes heated to the point of exploding, and came to simultaneous conclusions that left her grinning in triumph while a slow, answering smile would cross his face. And it was during one of those moments, his eyes warmed to a deep, mellow blue, each shade revealing a different emotion that it hit Juliet.

Slowly, inexorably, and not without more than a few bumps, she and Carlton had developed the sort of relationship most people spent their entire lives longing for.

"Open."

Juliet blinked, smiling at the sight of him kneeling beside her, creation in hand, looking like an earnest schoolboy with his messy, wind-tossed hair and a ruddy windburn from their ride emphasizing the sharp slash of his cheekbones. As she opened her mouth and took a bite, moaning at the intoxicating combination of graham cracker, warm chocolate, and gooey marshmallow, the schoolboy evolved into the man, the firelight picking out the silver in his dark hair and imbuing the blue of his eyes with a fiery intensity.

"Good?"

In response, she took the s'more from his hand and fed it to him, shivering as he captured her hand in his and held it still, sucking the remnants of chocolate and marshmallow from her fingers before leaning in and ghosting a kiss against her mouth.

"So good." With a deep sigh, she sat up and slid her hand into his hair. Tilting her head, she deepened the kiss, tasting chocolate and red wine, goosebumps rippling across her skin at the feel of his tongue stroking hers, firm and velvety, the rhythm unmistakably erotic. Her free hand rose to his chest and slid inside the open neck of his blue plaid button-down, making his hands tighten on her arms and prompting her to sigh into his mouth at the feel of him. So impossibly warm, his skin a combination of hair-roughened and smooth, fitted so perfectly over lean muscle and there, directly beneath her palm, the strong, steady beat of his heart, speaking to hers. Begging for the same thing she so desperately wanted.

As his mouth trailed down her throat, she moved both hands to his shoulders, holding tight and whimpering when his teeth latched onto the sensitive skin where neck and shoulder met.

"Juliet—" His voice rumbled against the sensitive skin of her throat as his hands stroked up from her waist to cup her breasts, gentle, but confident, his thumbs stroking across her nipples in light, devastating strokes.

Not wanting to pull away from his all-encompassing warmth yet needing to look into his eyes, Juliet leaned back. His hands slid back down to her waist, creeping beneath the hem of her shirt, as if needing to maintain as close a physical contact as possible. God, but he was amazing. He made her _feel_ amazing. Like she was the most beautiful, cherished woman on the earth. Holding his gaze with hers, she searched the ocean-blue, lit from within with the fiery amber that came as much from the firelight as his desire. Slowly, she traced the outlines of his handsome, beloved face—the tiny lines fanning from the corners of his eyes, the dark slashes of his brows, the silver scattered throughout his dark hair turned nearly completely white at his sideburns. Her fingers trailed along the strong, stubborn line of his jaw and the narrow, etched outline of his mouth, so often stern, but when relaxed, like now, revealing a surprising fullness and even more surprising vulnerability.

They had seen each other through so much. They'd see each other through so much more.

Her hand drifted from his face, down his chest, along the open vee of his shirt and down his abdomen, thrilling to the tensing of his muscles beneath her touch. At his waist, she shifted course and reached into her pocket of her jeans, slowly drawing out the key she'd kept close all week.

As his eyes widened with recognition she said, simply, "Take me home."


	11. As Long As You Want Me

**As Long As You Want Me**

**AN: **We're headed back into **M **territory, children. Be ye warned.

* * *

Steam began filling the bathroom as the shower water heated. Juliet stood before Carlton, quiet, expectant, and so impossibly lovely, he couldn't even begin to believe this wasn't yet another one of those hallucinations brought on by the long, slow, inevitable slide to madness caused by so many years exposure to Spencer.

As she reached up to cup his face, thoughts of the asshat immediately dissipated, disappearing into the wisps of steam.

Not a hallucination.

Real.

And his.

So very his.

"While I've always been exceptionally tolerant of your slight OCD tendencies, Carlton, a shower? _Now_? Really? "

He lifted an eyebrow even as his groin tightened at the telltale timbre of her voice. "Do you really want to go to bed with Eau de Misty and Beau clinging to us?"

"Who said we'd make it to the bed on the first try?" she replied with a slow smile that sent a renewed wave of heat through him.

"I did." Desire and humor took a momentary backseat as he regarded her seriously. "I want you like hell but I'll be damned if our first time is a quick and dirty, up against the wall and stinking of horses. That's not the memory I want to give you."

As her mouth dropped open with a silent "Oh," he stepped closer, reaching for the buttons on her shirt. Slowly, he undid each one, exposing smooth skin and her purple cotton bra, remarkably practical yet utterly feminine. Just like the woman herself. As the last button slid free, she moved, rolling her shoulders so the shirt fell to the ground, but otherwise remained still, willing to let him do as he would. He allowed himself a brief caress of the soft yet taut expanse of her abdomen before moving to the button at the waistband of her jeans, marveling at how steady his hands were, not a single tremble betraying the adrenaline coursing through his system that finally—_finally_—Juliet was with him.

Maybe he wasn't trembling because he knew it was forever.

Maybe he should have been trembling because he did know it was forever.

As his fingers grasped the zipper's tab, her hands rose to rest on his forearms, in them, all the uncontrolled trembling he'd half-expected from himself.

Silently, he met her gaze, searching, making absolutely certain.

"Please don't stop."

Juliet's voice was soft, but resonated with utter sureness, the emotion reinforced by the expression in her eyes, dark blue desire and the same kind of longing he'd been harboring and fighting against for years. The rasp of the zipper was lost against the shower and his own heartbeat, thundering in his ears, because her hands had moved again, to the front of his shirt, rapidly unbuttoning and shoving fabric aside until her palms rested on his bare chest, her fingers curling into the coarse hair and tugging gently. Her impatience feeding his, he slipped his hands beneath denim and more smooth body-warmed cotton to grasp her ass and pull her close, his eyes drifting shut as his mouth found hers.

She immediately opened to him, her tongue a sweet, hot invader as her fingernails scored a path down to his waist, unbuttoning and unzipping and pushing fabric down until they stood, shoulders-to-thighs, skin-to-skin, smooth and soft to hard and angular, her curves fitting seamlessly against him in a way he'd imagined so damned many times. Needless to say, the reality?

Blew the imaginings straight out of the water.

Kicking free of the clothes puddled at their feet, Juliet retreated, holding him tightly until she bumped against the vanity, gasping, "Screw the shower, Carlton," while hitching a hip up onto the counter's surface, the move dragging warmth and wetness across his erection. And it would have been so easy… so damned easy, to hoist her the rest of the way up onto the vanity, pull her thighs around his waist, and sink into her, but dammit, no—

"How about we screw _in_ the shower?" he growled against her throat, punctuating the raw words with a bite to her shoulder, her skin as smooth and sweet as the melted marshmallow and chocolate he'd fed her less than an hour before. Carlton was damned certain she was that smooth and sweet all over and he was damned certain he was going to find out.

Her whimper and sharp bite to the base of his neck shot straight to his groin and was as good as an affirmative in his book. One arm firm around her, reluctant to release her, even for a second, he reached out and yanked the shower curtain back. Stepping into the shower first, he held her steady as she followed before drawing the curtain back around the tub, leaving them them in damp, intimate dimness. Hot water sluiced over their bodies, teasing hidden nooks and crevices as they embraced, his head lowered over hers—doing nothing more than holding tight.

For the moment, that was enough.

It wasn't long, however, before the heat and the water and the feel of her skin sliding against his with an erotic smoothness left Carlton wanting more.

Needing more.

His hands explored the length of her back, teased the line between her buttocks and their enticing curves before sliding up along her sides until his thumbs nudged her breasts. Leaning back slightly, he cupped their weight in his palms, thumbs teasing her nipples as he lowered his head to capture her mouth in a brief, hard kiss. Slipping one arm around her back, he kissed his way along her jaw and down her throat... worked his way across her collarbone to her shoulder where he latched onto the spot he'd already marked, worrying it with his teeth until Juliet's fingers slipped into his hair, tugging, urging him with a hoarse "_Please,__" _to continue his path to her breasts. Breathing deep of the scent of her, he captured the water trickling in the valley between on his tongue before he veered to one side and finally closed his lips around an erect nipple. Her sighs and whimpers and entreaties of "_More_" wrapped around him as he tugged and sucked, his teeth scraping over the sensitive surface, once, and then again... and again... every hiss of pleasure driving him to increase the pressure each time. His hand clamped around her hip, making her arch hard against him and causing a thrill of dark pleasure to course through his bloodstream. Instinctively, he tightened his hand, his throat closing as her cries rose in pitch and one smooth leg wound around one of his, bringing her heat in contact with his thigh. She rubbed herself hard against him, clearly desperate for more friction, more relief, more... everything.

Once again, he sucked hard, male pride rising to unimaginable levels at the sounds she made. Still, he had to be sure.

"You don't mind?" he whispered against her skin.

"So long as you don't," she replied, her fingernails scoring yet another fiery path against his skin, this one down his back.

"It won't be like this every time," he assured her even as he shifted to her other breast, sucking hard, his fingertips mimicking the motion on the breast he'd just left.

She pulled back abruptly, both of them gasping at the drag of his mouth against her skin. Skewering him with her heated blue gaze, she very softly said, "You don't _ever_ have to apologize for what we do in bed—or out of it," she added with a rueful glance around at their surroundings. Her hands swept across his chest, the pads of her thumbs tracing devastating patterns over his nipples.

"I want to do _everything_ with you, Carlton." An almost unholy gleam lit her eyes, brightening them to a deep sapphire as she grinned. "Not to mention, _to_ you."

Before Carlton's conscious mind—what little of it remained—could process what was happening, she was on her knees before him, bar of soap in hand.

"Juliet, no…" He'd wanted to do for her, not… not…

"Shut up." Stretching up, she placed a warm, intimate kiss against his abdomen before beginning a slow, sensual, and altogether devastating assault with her hands, starting at his feet and working her way up each leg, rubbing the muscles in a way that left him simultaneously liquid and rock hard tense. She assiduously worked her magic on each thigh and over his hips, even across his backside, avoiding with devilish intent the area he most desperately wanted her to touch. Certain the water was evaporating straight off his overheated skin, he groaned as she blew a tantalizing breath of cool air across his erection moments before her slick and soapy hands enclosed him, stroking and washing with a gentle intimacy that left stars streaking behind his closed lids. He hissed as she turned him into the water, her hands sluicing over his skin, washing the suds away, opening his eyes in time to see her head, hair turned sleek and dark gold by the water, nestle itself between his thighs.

The sound of his palms slapping against wet tile echoed through the room with a sharp report like a gunshot—one he barely registered over the sheer, delicious torment of her warm wet mouth closing over him.

Everything she'd ever done to him with her kisses, she did now over his most sensitive, intimate areas, her hands joining the party, adding yet another level of heat and desire. One of his hands dropped to her head, the other reaching out, desperately groping for purchase on something… anything.

A crash dimly registered an instant before cool air washed over his body, shocking him away from the precipice—but only for an instant—as Juliet, clearly unfazed, continued working her devilish mouth and hands over his erection and thighs, clearly intent on bringing him to climax.

And much as he wanted to stop her—to see to her pleasure first—he couldn't… he couldn't…

He could feel how much she wanted to do this for him. Could feel the blinding intensity of her want. He'd never before in his life felt that much sheer desire directed at him and found himself helpless before it.

"Let go, baby. You'll have your turn. I promise."

He felt her words vibrating against his skin before she enveloped him again, her motions ever more deliberate and intent. It was obvious she would not be dissuaded and frankly, he'd be an idiot to try.

For a lot of reasons.

He'd been an idiot too many times before.

Not this time.

Cradling her head between his palms, arousal spiraling into a tight ball low in his gut, he sighed her name and gave himself over to the inevitable.


	12. Insatiable

**Insatiable**

**AN: **If the chapter title didn't give you enough of a clue, yes, we're still in the **M** territory. What? You didn't think they were _done_, did you?

* * *

Juliet rose, her knees burning with a pleasant ache and the rest of her body throbbing with unsatisfied lust. Ducking beneath the shower's spray, she quickly soaped and rinsed her body and lathered up her hair, knowing she had to work fast. He was still recovering, poor baby, slumped back against the tile, his eyes closed and chest heaving, but she knew that wasn't likely to last long. Nor did she want it to.

Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back, smiling at the feel of the reasonably hot water running through her hair and down her back. A sizeable water tank, then. Good to know. They'd have to do something about that shower curtain though—a sturdier rod at the very least. Otherwise, they'd be doing a lot of spackling of walls and mopping up of floors after the fact because shower sex with Carlton? Was definitely going to become a regular thing.

Warm hands lit on her waist, eliciting a sharp gasp. Opening her eyes, she met Carlton's gaze, her breath catching in her throat at the searing blue intent reflected in them. She stared up at him, at the tiny water droplets clinging to his spiky black lashes and the straight line of his lowered brows as his gaze raked over her body, intensifying her awareness that she hadn't yet experienced the same sort of release he'd enjoyed. One hand rose to his cheek, her palm stroking the emerging beard shadow. Her skin tingled and heat pooled between her thighs as she realized what he was about to do an instant before he moved.

The tile was cool and damp against her back as he turned her, one hand anchored firmly in her hair. As he kissed her, hard and merciless, his stubble rasping her skin with a pleasant burn, his free hand lowered between her thighs, fingers immediately sinking deep and his thumb targeting her most sensitive spot with devastating accuracy. On the precipice already from hours… _days_ of anticipation, her orgasm hit fast and hard, her cries muffled by his relentless kiss. Equally relentless, his hand continued moving between her thighs, the waves of pleasure overwhelming almost to the point of pain.

Through the pleasure she heard her own voice, but it was a voice she almost didn't recognize, begging, _stop, don't stop, too much, too much… more… please, Carlton, too much… not enough… please… more…_

As she writhed between him and the wall, the contrast between the cool, smooth tile and his warm, hair-roughened skin another layer of erotic sensation, he continued working her over, building her arousal back up, higher and higher… She dug her fingers into his shoulders, relishing the bunching of his muscles beneath her touch, breathing him in, tasting him as her tongue battled his and her teeth dragged across his lower lip. Gasping again as he shifted his hand to her thigh, pulling it up over his hip before reaching up to grab her arm and pull it down between them, his hand wrapping itself over hers around his renewed erection.

"Now," he growled in her ear, the first words he'd spoken since groaning her name as he'd climaxed.

Once again Juliet played her hand over his arousal, teasing the soft, impossibly hot skin, her fingertips sinking into the wet, coarse hair. She thrilled to the subtle and not-so-subtle movements she was able to inspire—the faint twitches and more obvious tremors—his body so desperate for hers. As desperate as she was for his.

"_Now_, Juliet." His gaze was pleading, his expression full of the same longing and love she felt.

He didn't have to tell her again.

And for all the desperation and urgency and slightly rough foreplay, their bodies coming together was the gentlest, most magical moment she'd ever experienced. She released her hold on him, bit by bit, allowing him to slowly sink into her, sighing as her body accepted his like it was meant just for him.

No other man had ever felt like him. Or, she knew with absolute certainty, ever would. Carlton Lassiter was her last.

Her only.

Holding his head steady between her hands, she gazed into the blue eyes that had always captivated her. Even when he was pissing her off to the point of physical violence, those eyes—those beautiful, blue eyes with all their shades of sky and sea—would speak volumes. Some of which she hadn't been able to understand… until now.

"I love you." Everything about him echoed his softly spoken words—the sound of his voice, his touch, the feel of his body in hers—the sensation was complete and all-encompassing.

She traced the arc of his cheekbones with her thumbs, leaned forward to gently kiss his mouth. "You are the missing piece of my heart, Carlton," she whispered against his lips. "I love you so much. Now please, love _me_."

She felt his body twitch deep within her in response to her words. An instant later, he moved more fully, drawing back almost completely, holding himself still for a long frozen moment, then driving forward hard, grinding his pelvis to hers and jolting her against the slick tiles. Again and again he drove into her, his mouth finding hers once more, the kisses surprisingly gentle in contrast to the motion of their lower bodies, hard and harder, the sounds of wet skin slapping together echoing through the bathroom along with their gasps and cries.

One hand firm beneath her ass, Carlton worked his other between them, stroking her to another orgasm and before that one had completely faded, building her up again, breaking their kiss to gaze into her face, clearly gauging how close she was.

She knew what he wanted—the same thing she did. Digging her fingers into his shoulders she gasped, "Now, please God, Carlton, _now—_" the words rising to a cry as he pushed into her and she clamped down tight. She buried her head against his neck, gasping as their bodies shuddered together for long, endless moments.

Soon, though, the shudders turned to shivers as they realized the hot water had finally run out. Reluctantly separating, they each briefly stepped beneath the tepid stream to rinse off before Carlton spun the taps closed. Stepping from the tub, he grabbed an oversized towel and wrapped it around her before gently lifting her out.

"I love you," he murmured as he rubbed the towel over her. He dried her off, paying exquisite attention to every inch of her body while repeating the words along with others—soft words about how beautiful she was, how he loved her body—explicit, sweet words detailing exactly _how_ her body had felt beneath his touch, how he'd felt in her, that built desire all over again.

Dazed, all Juliet could think was the fallen shower curtain and wet floor could damn well wait.

* * *

They would not, in fact, get around to cleaning up the bathroom until Sunday afternoon.

Juliet lay curled on the sofa, wearing a pair of Carlton's boxers and one of his old Academy t-shirts, happily breathing of him as she dozed. Jazz drifted from the stereo, rain was drumming on the roof and Carlton was puttering in the bathroom, having insisted she rest as he put things to rights. As he'd argued when she tried to protest, he was the one who'd yanked the shower curtain off its moorings after all.

Honestly, her protests had been token at best and they both knew it. She was sore, exhausted, and had honest-to-God never felt better in her entire life. She was more than happy to bask—luxuriate, even—in all the sensations.

"Hey, I just put clean sheets on the bed. You want to move?"

She blinked sleepily and reached up to pull his head down to hers for a long, deep kiss.

"No."

Tugging harder, she drew him down to lie fully over her, a sound somewhere between a sigh and a purr escaping at the feel of his body pinning hers to the sofa. When he tried to move, to shift some of his weight off her body, she tightened her hold, sliding one leg over his to hold him in place.

"I'm heavy," he protested.

"I like it." She sighed again and something about that seemed to allow him to relax. Dropping his head to her shoulder, he peppered small kisses along her neck and collarbone, nuzzling her skin like a large, satisfied cat.

She shivered and stroked his hair, her fingers playing through the soft, wavy strands, studying the play of watery afternoon light through the black-and-silver.

"It's going to be so hard to go to work tomorrow."

His voice rumbled against her neck. "We don't have to."

"Oh?"

"We have plenty of accrued time. We could call in. Maybe for the next week… or three."

Carlton Lassiter suggesting they play hooky? Unheard of. Next thing, he'd be making peace with squirrels and vegans. Or not. She smiled and dropped a kiss to the top of his head.

"Tempting as that sounds and believe me, it's _very_ tempting, I don't think we should."

He rose to an elbow and looked down at her, the familiar frown drawing his brows together. "Not even for a day?"

Good heavens—now he was sounding downright plaintive. And much as she felt a distinct sense of pride that she, Juliet O'Hara, had reduced the by-the-book Head Detective of the Santa Barbara Police Department—a man who'd historically put duty and responsibility above all else—to a man willing to ditch work in order to stay naked and indulge in endless bouts of nooky, she had good reason to put the kibosh on his suggestion. A sentiment she desperately hoped he shared.

"Stop that." She rubbed gently between his brows until he relaxed, then trailed her fingertip down along the distinctive line of his nose, lifting her head to place light kisses to the freckles dotting his cheekbones. She smiled again, a small, private smile as she envisioned all the different places she'd discovered those pale, coffee-colored marks. Her favorite just might be the cluster down at the base of his spine. She'd had a lovely, lovely time this morning, playing connect the dots—with her tongue.

"This is for real, Carlton."

"I know."

"Do you? Really?"

He gazed down at her, stroking her hair back from her face with a devastatingly gentle touch. She shivered, knowing this was the real Carlton—_her_ Carlton.

"If you'd asked me not that long ago, even, I would never have believed it." His eyes had turned deep blue, shards of silver-gray adding depth and intensity and reflecting every emotion Juliet felt. "But today, right now… hell, forever, I believe this is for real." A small, hopeful smile turned up one corner of his mouth. "I don't, however, understand why that means we can't take tomorrow."

Warmth flooded her, both at his words and the renewed sense of just how much she loved him. She wondered if that would ever get old—realizing how much she adored this man in her arms.

She suspected it wouldn't.

"Because this is our new normal." She framed his face with her hands. "We're together and we're partners—in all ways. We have to be able to conduct our everyday lives the way we always have and I think the best way to do that is to get up and go to work tomorrow and treat it like any other day. Albeit it one where we get to come home to each other." Her smile felt absurdly smug and self-satisfied, even to her, as she added, "Which will also be our new normal."

His face remained as poker still as ever, but his expressive eyes revealed his consideration of her words. Her smile deepened. The secret to remaining patient with him all these years when so few others could—her ability to read those eyes.

Stupid people, she'd often thought, but hey, her gain. They could remain blissfully ignorant while she happily lost herself for hours in that changeable blue gaze.

"What about planning to take time off?"

"Mmm…" She shifted beneath him, rubbing her thigh along his. "You have something in mind?"

"How about skiing?"

Promising… She'd never been but had always wanted to go and somehow, as with so much else, Carlton seemed to know. "Sounds fun. Especially if it also involves hot toddies and roaring fires."

He lowered his head, breath tickling the sensitive skin of her throat as he murmured, "And bearskin rugs and Jacuzzi tubs large enough for extracurricular activities." His hands stroked her sides down to her thighs, his fingertips easing up beneath the legs of the shorts. "I'll take care of the reservations tomorrow."

Juliet arched into his touch. "I do so love your ability to create a detailed plan and set it in motion."

"Not the only thing I want to set in motion."

In one smooth motion he'd rolled off the sofa and scooped her into his arms. Pausing for a moment, he looked over at the front door, then back down at her.

"You do know I'm going to carry you over that threshold one day, right?" It was phrased as a question, yet his words nevertheless reflected his belief in her assurances that what they had _was_ real. That this was now their new normal.

Tears sparking hot at the backs of her eyes, Juliet tightened her arms around his neck and met his kiss as he continued to the bedroom.

It wasn't until much later that night—after they'd gone back to her place and picked up a few days' worth of clothes for her and gone to the grocery store to stoke up on both their favorites and returned home to make love again—that she responded to his question.

"Carlton?"

His voice was slow and sleepy, matching the intimacy of the shadowed dark surrounding them. "Yeah?"

"Let's make that one day you referred to earlier come sooner rather than later, okay?"

He didn't say anything. But then, he didn't have to.

The feel of his arms holding her tight said it all.


	13. Breakable

**Breakable**

* * *

"The money doesn't matter—"

"It _does_. Come on, Carlton, it's just three months."

Carlton flinched as Juliet stabbed into her salad three times as she spoke, as if to emphasize just how inconsequential the number really was. They were continuing a discussion begun hours earlier over breakfast while sharing lunch at one of their favorite beachfront cafés—situated well away from the station—a workday habit they'd fallen into in the past month. Discretion, already an ingrained habit for both of them had become essential both because of the job and because, dammit, this was theirs and it was no one's business. They were both well aware they'd become public knowledge eventually, but for now, they cherished their little bubble of privacy and were fierce as hell about protecting it. So far, only Karen knew and really, only because they'd come in that first Monday at work and told her. A byproduct of employing such strict discipline, however, had been the deep need created to carve out time during the day that was just theirs.

Some days—like today—it meant lunch at out of the way places. More often than not, it meant racing home for a too-quick but so-necessary hour alone and naked.

It was during one of those at-home breaks, her fingers trailing lazy circles on his chest that Juliet zeroed in on why those pockets of time were so vitally important to them. "I always knew I cherished our alone time during the work day—how I considered it this peaceful respite away from the craziness where I could just breathe and enjoy a little piece of normal. Now, though, I understand how much it was a need to be with _you_, Carlton. You've always been my respite."

He couldn't have put it any better himself.

It scared him, sometimes, how very much he needed Juliet O'Hara.

Almost as much as it mystified him that she seemed to need him just as much.

"Look—" He snapped out of his thoughts at her light touch to his hand. "The simple fact is, it would cost considerably more to break my lease now, than to just ride it out and not renew. Besides, the time left on the lease gives us the opportunity to sort through both our things without being rushed."

"You're right, but—"

"Stop it." Juliet put her fingertips to his lips, shushing him mid-fret.

Carlton met her gaze, reading in the lovely dark blue a combination of amusement, exasperation, and God help him, love that he suspected would be commonplace for… hell, the next fifty or so years.

"I'm being an ass, aren't I?" he asked, but not really.

"Yes." She moved her hand to cup his cheek, her thumb rubbing a slow, lazy path over his mouth that made him half-grateful for being an ass if this was the result. Half-annoyed they'd opted for food rather than one of those hushed, frantic, laughing hours in bed.

"As confident as you are about us," she continued softly, "why is this one thing throwing you so bad?"

"I don't know."

Not completely true. He did know, sort of, but even in his own head, it sounded stupid. He could only imagine how ridiculous it would sound said aloud. He covered her hand with his and turned his head to press a kiss to the palm, relishing the taste of her skin, salt and the faint remnants of maple syrup from the pancakes she'd made for breakfast. Another habit they'd easily fallen into—taking turns making breakfast while sharing the work of preparing their evening meal and on those days when they came home late or were just too tired, grabbing something to eat on the way home or simply ordering in.

It was all so damned easy. And maybe that's why he was so unnerved by this one thing.

"It's not a safety net."

Shocked, he lowered their joined hands to the table

"That stupid lease could have a _year_ left on it and it wouldn't matter. It wouldn't change a damned thing." She stared up at him, her gaze searching his face anxiously, it seemed.

"I trust you with my life," he answered before she'd even opened her mouth to ask.

She closed her eyes and sighed—when she opened them again, Carlton could clearly read the obvious wonder in the dark blue.

"How do you do that?"

"I don't know." He lifted her hand again and gently kissed the back. "It's not something I've ever been able to do with another soul. Just you."

"I thought it was a myth. Something that only existed in romance novels—that perfect, wordless communication between lovers."

Warmth flared in his midsection at the sound of the word. Lovers. There was something so deeply intimate about it—more so than just boyfriend/girlfriend or even husband and wife. More to it, even, than the physical intimacy with which it was synonymous. To be someone's lover meant… everything.

The rest of lunch they spent discussing some of the details—what they might keep, what to cull, what they might want to buy together. The more they talked, the more the idea that had been brewing in the back of Carlton's mind since practically the first moment he'd seriously considered a future with Juliet seemed not only logical, but the right thing to do.

"You know," he said once they were in the car and on their way back to the station, "since we're going to use the three months left on your lease to pack you up, maybe we should consider doing the same for me."

He felt her curious gaze, but she remained silent, waiting for him to elaborate.

"Even though Marlowe didn't live in the condo all that long, it still feels as if expecting you to move in is… shortchanging you, somehow."

They came to a stoplight, allowing him the opportunity to look at her fully. Thankfully, she didn't look as if she was going to haul off and clock him a good one for so gracelessly shoving the memory of his ex into their private idyll. Rather, she looked thoughtful. Maybe with a side of chagrined.

"I'd… like to say it doesn't matter and really, deep down, it doesn't. Wherever we're together is home enough for me." She chewed on the pad of her thumb. "On the other hand, I can't deny what you're suggesting _is_ tempting." She wrinkled her nose as a self-conscious laugh escaped. "And here I thought I was eminently practical and above such petty nonsense. Guess I'm just a jealous, selfish cow at heart."

He reached out to take her hand in his. "It's not selfish to want a place that's just ours, sweetheart. That we choose together."

The light turned green and he returned his attention to the road, although he kept her hand firmly in his—soothed by the comforting stroking of her thumb over his skin.

At the top of the stairs leading into the station, she put her hand to his arm and led him along the portico to a shadowed alcove . "You know, I have some money put away, too."

He smiled faintly and leaned against one of the stucco columns, crossing his arms. "And now that people have quit dying in _my_ condo, the property value's improved considerably. Even with those whackjob Farrows as neighbors, it's still a beautiful property in a great location. I suspect it would not only sell quickly, but that I'd be able to turn a pretty tidy profit, to boot."

Glancing around to make certain they were shielded from casual passers-by, she stepped closer—close enough for her foot to slide between his and her body heat to warm him from shoulder to thighs, even though she was very deliberately not touching him.

"I think if we seriously consider doing this," she said softly, pink rising in her cheeks, "a house might be nice."

"Yeah?"

Juliet nodded, the pink extending down her throat and across the expanse of chest left visible by the wide scoop neck of her blouse. The warmth radiating from her body increased, leaving him shifting his weight restlessly from one foot to the other, his hands practically itching to stroke all of that smooth, rose-tinted skin.

"It doesn't have to be big." Her gaze remained downcast, her hands drifting up to rest lightly on his waist. "But it'd be nice for the kids to have a yard, wouldn't it?"

To hell with who might be around. With a sigh, he grasped her arms and pulled her all the way in, bending his head over hers.

"Yeah," he whispered. "It would."

Still aware of their surroundings, they kept their embrace brief, but even after they parted, Carlton felt Juliet's arms around him—felt the promise in the light kiss she'd brushed against the underside of his jaw before reluctantly drawing back. It wasn't enough—the word simply didn't exist in his vocabulary where she was concerned—but it would suffice to keep him going until they could get home and close the door on the outside world.

Thank God it was Friday—he absolutely needed the next two days of solitude with his beautiful Juliet and God help any criminal who might be stupid enough to intrude.

"Detectives."

Karen's voice rang out as soon as they turned down the hall leading to the bullpen. She stood in the door to her office, clearly waiting for them.

"What's up, I wonder?" Juliet muttered under her breath.

"I have no freaking clue," he said. "I haven't even discharged my weapon without cause in weeks."

"Not true. What about last week?"

"The Fair?" At her nod he protested, "That was completely justified—that vendor was a crooked son of a bitch."

"All of those games are rigged, Carlton. You _know_ that."

"Which is why it was only fair I use my own weapon to shoot those damned thieving squirrels."

One eyebrow rose. "The live ammo might have been a wee bit excessive."

"Only way to make absolutely certain they're down."

"They were wood cutouts!"

"Still furry, disease-carrying rodents, even if they're only two-dimensional."

"Carlton—"

"Hey, I hit every damned one of them and won you the giant stuffed white tiger."

"More like the guy handed it over because he was petrified you were going to shoot him."

He snorted. "Don't think it didn't occur."

The eyebrow rose higher as she hit him with a sidelong glare. "I rest my case."

A few feet away, a faint smile twitched at the corners of Karen's mouth as she observed their interplay although the smile didn't completely reach her eyes, leaving Carlton with an inexplicably uneasy feeling. Likely she was calling them in because they had a case, but somehow, reading her body language and looking into those somber brown eyes, he knew she wasn't. And if it wasn't a case, and she needed both of them, then there was only one thing it could be.

"What's up?" he asked quietly as they approached.

"We have a situation." She stepped aside to reveal the visitor sitting before her desk who until this moment been obscured by the drawn blinds and Karen's presence in the doorway. And even with his back to them, there was no mistaking the spiky gelled hair and insolent slouch.

Figured. He should've known it wouldn't be a criminal—at least, not a nice, _normal_ one—who'd burst his bubble.

A moment later, the visitor stood and turned and God help him, Carlton laughed.

"Jesus, Spencer, you get called to the principal's office or something?"

The asshat stood there, wearing reasonably clean jeans, a plaid shirt, and a skinny knit tie straight out of 1984—hell, even his Nikes were tied properly with double knots and everything. He still hadn't managed a clean shave, but all things considered, this was the most together Carlton had seen Shawn Spencer since Pierre Despereaux's funeral. Looked every bit as somber, too, which caused the laughter to fade as a frisson of uneasiness snaked down his spine.

Ignoring Spencer, Juliet asked, "What's going on, Chief?" as she drew closer to Carlton. As her fingers discreetly brushed his, Carlton watched Spencer's eyes narrow and two bright spots of color appear high on his cheeks. Huh. After his initial all night attempt to win Juliet back and discredit Carlton, Spencer had retreated and been remarkably scarce, but it was readily apparent now he hadn't completely surrendered.

Which begged the question—what the hell was he up to?

After closing the door, Karen returned to her desk and retrieved a folder. "Mr. Spencer claims to have gathered some evidence I might find relevant to the two of you." Handing it to Carlton she added, "I think you'll find it… interesting."

Uneasiness building at her cryptic statement, he slowly folded back the manila cover, revealing a photograph of him and Juliet. Under normal circumstances a lovely photograph—the two of them seated on a bench, her hands framing his face, his head turned, obviously kissing one of her palms—but for someone to have taken the picture in the first place…

"Oh my God."

Frozen, Carlton allowed Juliet to take the folder from his hands. He stared, immobile, as she crossed to the table in the corner and set the folder down, spreading the photographs—because there were literally dozens—across the surface, repeating in a tight voice, "Oh my _God_." The last word rose in a way that reached deep into Carlton's gut and propelled him across the room to her side.

"Christ," he breathed as he riffled through photograph after photograph—a virtual chronology of their relationship. So many moments captured on film—at the bookstore, sharing meals, walking hand in hand. Shots of the two of them at the movies, her head resting on his shoulder, seated by a bonfire, a pair of horses looking placidly on as they fed each other s'mores and realized that yes, this was it—it was love and it was _real_ and it was forever. Moments that should have been theirs alone.

Carlton's skin crawled and a sour taste flooded his mouth as he came across a series of photographs showing nothing more than shadowy silhouettes behind filmy curtains—shots taken with a powerful telephoto lens since the window was obviously his and the profiles were most assuredly him and Juliet. Just as obvious, at least to him, was that they were nude or very nearly so, and wrapped around each other, absorbed in each other and in what should have been an intense, intimate, _private_ moment.

Never.

Never before in his life had he felt so violated.

Not even when his home and life had been searched by his coworkers—not even when Madeline Spencer had probed his psyche—not even with a gun pressed to his damned head—had he felt so irrevocably violated.

"As you can see, Chief, you have here definitive proof of your Head Detective taking advantage of his much younger, female partner. Again. Seems like a real problem for him." Spencer's voice took on the smug, oily edge that had never failed to set Carlton's nerves on edge. "You know… seems like it could be a real public relations problem for the department if these pictures were to fall into the wrong hands."

Karen's eyebrows rose as she crossed her arms. "And what, exactly, do you expect me to do with this… information, Mr. Spencer?"

"I think the real question, Chief, is do you have the stones to do what we both know you should?"

Carlton's jaw dropped as Karen stiffened. Her next words emerged practically coated in frost. "I would think, Mr. Spencer, that after all this time, you're aware I do not take well to being threatened."

"Yeah, well I don't think the citizens of Santa Barbara and the officials who run the city would take well to knowing their Head Detective is using the police force funded by their tax dollars as his personal dating pool. A move that's apparently sanctioned by the Chief of Police."

Beside Carlton, Juliet was trembling uncontrollably but it was the stricken expression on her face that tore straight into Carlton's heart.

"You son of a _bitch_."

"Carlton, no!"

Stunned, he stared down at Juliet, struggled against the hold she had on his upraised arm. "Let me go."

"No." Both hands gripped his forearm. "You can't hit him."

"_What_?"

"I said, you cannot hit Shawn."

"Goddammit, why not?"

"Because it wouldn't be right."

Stunned devolved into sheer disbelief as he took in the mulish set of her mouth and the beseeching look in her eyes. She clearly did not want him to beat the ever loving shit out of Spencer, despite the fact that he so richly deserved it because it wouldn't be _right_? Why the hell would she defend him? Why would she defend such reprehensible behavior? What reason could she possibly have—

Oh.

Oh dear _God_.

Oh dear, ever loving crap on a cracker, God.

With a harsh laugh he shook his head and relaxed his arm.

"I see."

Her eyes widened. "No. You don't."

"Yeah, actually—I think I do." And so did Spencer, judging by the arrogant smirk plastered across his fat, smug face. A smirk virtually crowing that he'd won. Again.

Son of a—

Yanking his arm free, he approached Karen, ignoring Juliet's sharp, _"Carlton.__"_

"You'd better take this." Very slowly and deliberately, he drew his service weapon from the holster, releasing the magazine and handing both pieces to her.

"Carlton—" she began, but stopped at the shake of his head.

"I don't trust myself to be in possession of it right now. You do what you feel is necessary. I'm taking the rest of the day."

"Detective," she began again, the hold on his arm pausing him before he could bolt, but only just. "You're making a huge mistake."

He laughed—a harsh, brittle sound. "Story of my life, isn't it, Karen?"

He turned and left, his heart breaking at the sound of Juliet's imploring, "Carlton, _please_."

But he wouldn't turn around.

He couldn't.

He was too afraid of what he might see.


	14. The Finish Line

**The Finish Line**

* * *

Stricken, Juliet watched the door close behind Carlton, desperate to go after him, to take him in her arms and reassure him—after smacking him upside the head—but completely unable because right now she had Things to attend to.

"It truly boggles the mind how you ever got involved with him in the first place, let alone stayed with him as long as you did."

As Juliet turned to face the Chief, Shawn piped up. "I concur, Chief—but I suppose it's one of those things everyone has to get out of their system—the obligatory workplace romance. Although for Lassie, it seems to be the sum total of his love life. At least it never became public knowledge. Jules can pretend it never even happened."

Juliet met Vick's gaze for a brief disbelieving moment before snapping, "She meant _you_, dumbass," feeling her heart break a little more at how utterly… Carlton the insult sounded.

He should have stayed, dammit. Should have been by her side as she fought for _them_. Beyond the anger and hurt, though, she understood why he'd left. Mind, it brought with it its own set of hurts and anger, but she would deal with those soon enough.

First, however…

"How do you want to play this?"

Once again, Shawn spoke. "I'd think it's pretty clear cut, Chief. You transfer Lassie—or better still, outright fire him—and promote Jules to take his place. Then merrily we roll along on the Good Ship SBPD, unfettered by tight-assed, paranoid, interfering—"

"Mr. Spencer, shut up or I _will_ arrest you right now."

As Shawn's mouth closed with an audible snap, Juliet crossed to the table and collected the photographs. Her fingers lingered over an image of Carlton smiling at her, love evident in every line of his body. Damn Shawn to hell for intruding—even from a distance.

"I suppose these will have to be tagged as evidence." Her stomach sank at the thought of anyone else laying eyes on these photographs. If Shawn didn't cooperate, however, it was almost guaranteed their most private moments would be exposed and subjected to scrutiny. "After that, I'll go over to the courthouse and file the paperwork for the restraining order."

"A restraining order? _Jules_—"

Ignoring Shawn, Vick nodded. "As long as you're over there, go ahead and file for the search warrant—we're going to need the camera as evidence as well."

Juliet nodded. "That's right—it's a felony charge isn't it?"

"Felony? _What_—?"

"Oh, didn't you realize, Mr. Spencer?" Vick's voice was deceptively silky and smooth, adding a dangerous edge as she explained, "Threatening a police officer is a felony offense in the State of California. Currently, you're carrying the weight of three charges."

Shawn paled then furious color flooded his face. "I wasn't threatening," he spluttered. "Not really."

"Oh?" Juliet narrowed her eyes and held up the manila folder. "Public relations problem? Wrong hands?" She stalked toward him, gratified to see him to stumble back a step, flailing before he managed to grab hold of the edge of the Chief's desk. "Vick having the stones to do what she _should_. What would you call that, Shawn, huh?"

Blood-red fury colored her vision as she drew closer, halted only by the Chief's quiet, "O'Hara."

"Jules… hon-" He stopped short of uttering the endearment. Good thing. She might have felt compelled to knock his teeth straight down his lying throat and that would've blown their moral high ground all to hell.

"You know I wouldn't have really done any of that—I just…" He paused, for once looking as if he was searching for the right words. Looking confused, as if suddenly struck that the right words weren't tripping readily off his normally silver tongue. Good. A little tarnish might do him well.

"I just wanted to prove the seriousness of my intent."

She couldn't speak. She literally could not speak.

Luckily, Chief Vick wasn't suffering any such handicap.

"Mr. Spencer. You have produced evidence that you spent considerable time over the last month stalking two officers of the law. You invaded their privacy in the most base and reprehensible of ways. You intimated to a third officer that you would not be averse to exposing their relationship—one that is perfectly allowable under the code of conduct, by the way. Which leads me to conclude that the only serious intent you had was in fulfilling a personal vendetta prompted by coming out on the wrong end of a broken love affair."

"I… _no_." Shawn shook his head. "I wouldn't have done any of it, Chief—I swear. I just wanted to prove to Jules how far I'd go to… to…"

"Try to get Carlton out of my life," Juliet filled in flatly. "You know exactly what sort of moral code he lives by. That he'd just as soon retire and maybe even leave before allowing this sort of scandal to happen to me. What I can't wrap my head around, Shawn, is what you possibly could have been thinking. That if he was gone I'd just... _forget_ him?"

"Well… yeah." Shawn brightened for a moment, his hazel eyes lighting with the gleam that made them shine like Joseph's Coat of Many Colors yet that hid so damned much. How she wished she'd seen that before.

"Jules—think about it. Lassie's always been an obstacle between us—always been the thorn in our side. With him out of the way, I can show you how things can really be between us." He held his hands out, palms up, supplicating in a way he never was, always so confident that things would go his way without much effort on his part.

"Think about how far I've gone to show to you how much I need you. Don't you see?"

Juliet studied him—really _looked _at him a way she'd avoided for far too long. She took in the hair, the clothes, the scuffed sneakers; the artfully mussed hair and deliberately scruffy beard—and saw nothing but a man whose actions were still informed by an emotionally stunted, devil-may-care boy. The type of boy who'd rationalize any action—no matter how low or morally questionable it might be—as proof of his sincerity.

"What I see is someone trying too hard and in all the wrong ways to hang on to something that should never have happened in the first place."

She turned to head for the door, anxious now to take care of what was immediately necessary so she could get home to Carlton.

"Chief, would you—" She held out the folder, knowing Vick would take care of it as discreetly as possible.

She nodded as she accepted the folder. "Of course. And the other?"

Juliet took a deep breath. "I'm headed for the courthouse right now. It needs to be done if only to prove the seriousness of _my_ intent." She glanced over her shoulder in time to see Shawn cringing at her deliberate choice of words. "I simply can't trust that he never had any intention of exposing us. Even if ultimately our relationship is aboveboard and you were aware from the outset, the damage the pictures could do along with the innuendo he'd stir up out of sheer maliciousness is potentially devastating." She pressed her lips together tightly before adding, "I can't risk it. Carlton's gone through enough at Shawn's hands."

"Agreed." Vick's smile was grim. "And you just concern yourself with the restraining order—I'll take care of pressing the felony charges. I want all our bases covered. I've let Mr. Spencer get away with far too much over the years, but to paraphrase Harry Truman, the buck now stops here."

Juliet exhaled a long sigh of relief. One obstacle addressed. One, tall, cranky, _idiotic, _blue-eyed obstacle left to deal with.

"Jules?"

Hand on the doorknob, she turned.

"Don't you see?" he repeated softly. "I did all this because… because…" A shuddering sigh escaped, leaving him looking surprisingly vulnerable. "Without you, I'm nothing."

Once upon a time, she might have been moved by that vulnerability. Once upon a time. Now, though, she knew it for what it was. She didn't doubt that he was feeling hurt and exposed at the moment—probably in a way that he'd never before experienced—or at least, not since his mother had left. Honest truth, too, was with Shawn, emotions didn't run all that deep. Sure, he'd flounder for a bit—he'd blame her for a long while because someone had to take blame—and he'd _definitely_ hold Carlton ultimately responsible because to do otherwise, would mean he'd have to take blame himself and that? Would never happen.

A question she knew would dog her in quiet moments—how she could have ever been with anyone who so thoroughly abdicated responsibility?

"Oh, Shawn—" At her sympathetic tone he straightened, his face lighting with a flicker of hope.

"You only have that half right."

Emotions steady, she watched to make certain he fully grasped exactly what she meant before turning to leave again, pausing only to remove her service revolver from its holster. Ejecting the magazine, she handed both pieces to Chief Vick who accepted them with a grin.

"Don't trust yourself, Detective?"

"Not right now, no."

"Take it easy on him," she said softly. "You know how he is."

Juliet pinched the bridge of her nose. She would not cry—would not. Not in front of her boss and most especially, not in front of Shawn. The only person she'd ever cried in front of since reaching adulthood was Carlton. When it came down to it, he was the only one she trusted. "He's not the only one who's hurt."

"Yes, but your way to deal with emotional upset is to confront while his is to retreat and brood." Vick's gaze was shrewd and knowing and Juliet was reminded that her boss had a lot of years and experience invested in a successful relationship. "By all means, give him all the hell he deserves and then some for not trusting you, but in the end, find somewhere in the middle to meet." A faint smile curved the edges of her mouth. "The making up will be well worth it—trust me."

Giving him hell and making up.

Yeah. _Yeah_. She could manage that.

Provided she didn't kill him first.


	15. Unlike Any Other

**Unlike Any Other**

Headed back to the **M**-ish territory. Just so's you know...

* * *

The click of the key being turned in the lock was followed in rapid succession by the sound of the door opening and closing, and the lock being reengaged.

Sounds that for the past month had filled Carlton with a quiet contentment because they meant Juliet was home. Now, though…

Staring sightlessly over the balcony rail to the distant mountains, he tossed back the contents of his glass and reached for the bottle. Before he could pour yet another healthy measure of excellent 18-year single malt, however, he felt it removed from his grasp, along with the cut crystal tumbler. Before he could so much as voice a protest, she'd already exited the balcony, leaving behind a pair of white envelopes resting on the bistro table.

Several moments later she reappeared, having changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, her favorite at-home outfit. An optimistic man would have taken that as a good sign. For the past month, Carlton would have considered himself optimistic, but it was still too new a sensation for him to trust in fully. Forty-three years of deeply ingrained pessimism was a bitch to overcome.

Juliet set two mugs of fresh coffee down on the table and settled into a chair. "How much have you had to drink?"

"Does it matter?"

"Yes." From the corner of his eye he watched her lift her mug and take a sip. "I want to know if I need to wait for you to sober up because I want you absolutely clear and lucid."

A sharp, bitter laugh escaped. "Does it really matter?"

The table shook as she slammed her mug to the table, coffee sloshing over the edges. "Yes, dammit, it does."

Carlton closed his eyes against the sound of obvious tears in her voice. It was his undoing, that husky, tremulous tone he'd only heard once before. And just like that day he could hear the harsh, thready breaths escaping between the words—could practically feel the shudders wracking her body as she'd clung to him, hands clutching at his arms as he'd held her close.

_God. _In retrospect, he'd been _such_ a fool. Imagining he could ever love anyone else.

As the chair legs screeched against the concrete he steeled himself for the fatal slam of the front door he was absolutely certain would follow. What he wasn't prepared for was to feel her warmth—to breathe in the combination of vanilla and citrus overlaid with coffee that was so uniquely Juliet and a headier aphrodisiac than the most expensive perfume could ever be.

"I wanted to be mad. I really did." The words were soft and reasonable, yet laced with unmistakable pain. "I wanted to yell and scream and try to make you understand just how upset and hurt I am. And believe me, I am extremely hurt, Carlton. So much so, it even trumps the anger."

Still afraid he might just be imagining everything, he kept his eyes closed.

Her voice dropping to just above a whisper she said, "You promised you'd never leave me. And you swore you trusted me. But how am I supposed to believe you when at the first sign of trouble you ran?"

Her voice thickened as she spoke, a faint sob hiccupping through the last few words and prompting him to finally open his eyes.

If the sound of her tears broke his heart, the sight of her standing before him with haunted, red-rimmed eyes, a single tear leaving a damp trail along her pale cheek, shattered it into a million tiny pieces.

"You said I couldn't hit him because it wouldn't be right. You prevented me from defending _us_." He swallowed hard. "You've fallen for his bullshit before, Juliet—how was I supposed to know this wasn't just another capitulation?"

"Because you were supposed to trust me." She held up a hand, causing the argument to die in his throat before it could even fully form. "I know, though, that Shawn has a way of upending everything. I _know_ that in the past, I've forgiven him things that by all means, should have been unforgivable. But what he did this time—" Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she turned her head to one side and stared off into the distance, her mouth a tight, unhappy line.

"He…violated us, Carlton. He intruded on our most private, precious moments and tried to turn them into something dirty and wrong. No matter what spin he could try to put on it as some grand romantic gesture to get me back, his threat to expose us—to make us a public spectacle—was only to satisfy his own ego. How on earth could you imagine I wouldn't see that? That I'd ever forgive him such a gross desecration?"

_Desecration_.

To damage something revered.

With anyone else, he'd assume the word choice was random—not so with Juliet. She was as deliberate in her speech as he was. If she used that word, it was because she meant it.

To damage something… revered.

He spoke slowly. "I was… afraid." An emotion he'd never confessed to—not out loud, anyway. But for Juliet, he'd have to. "That maybe those pictures cast our relationship in a different light."

Just the tip of the iceberg and he was prepared to keep going but was stopped short by Juliet's immediate, "No."

Mouth still tight, obviously fighting for control, she shook her head hard. "If anything, seeing those pictures made me fall more in love with you—with us." She drew a deep shuddering breath. "And made me even more determined to control him and keep him from interfering in our lives any further."

Carlton thought back over all the times they'd tried to control Spencer. More than once he'd likened it to trying to control mercury once it had spilled from a broken thermometer.

"Good luck with that."

For the first time she appeared to relax—at least a little—a ghost of a smile easing her beautiful features and making his heart skip a beat—or six.

"I can't blame you one bit for thinking that way, however, this time, I think we're in the better position." She nodded toward the envelopes on the table. "Go ahead. Look."

Carlton regarded the two envelopes for a moment—hesitated as if they were cobras, just waiting to strike—but after an encouraging nod from Juliet, reached for them. Holding her gaze with his, he picked up the first one and slowly lifted the flap. He extricated the folded sheets and opened them, reading the contents with a growing sense of awe.

"We have an appointment to appear in court on Monday. Just a formality."

"Holy crap." He shook his head and reread the sheets—just to make sure. "You filed a restraining order."

"And Chief Vick's going to file felony charges against him, too, for threatening officers of the law. That's why I couldn't let you hit him. I didn't want him having _any _ammunition at all."

Carlton tossed the papers to the table and rubbed his forehead. "I am _such_ an idiot."

"Yeah. You are." Her warmth surrounded him as she moved forward and framed his face between her hands. "But you're my idiot, Carlton, and I'll be damned if I let anyone hurt you."

He rested his hands on her hips and gazed up into her lovely face. "I thought I was supposed to protect you."

"We're partners." She moved to straddle him in the chair, her arms sliding around his neck. "We protect each other." She nodded at the table. "You have another envelope to open."

Keeping her safe within his embrace, he reached around her to pick up the second envelope, its contents almost as mind-boggling as the restraining order.

She leaned forward, soft and pliant against his chest. Her lips grazed his ear as she whispered, "No safety nets."

He shivered at the feel of her warm breath teasing the sensitive skin of his ear—shivered again as the tip of her tongue emerged to trail a sinuous path around the rim. His voice hoarse he said, "You broke your lease."

Juliet braced her hands on his shoulders and leaned back far enough to meet his gaze. "I want all doubt gone. I am all in with you, Carlton Lassiter."

She stared at him, emotional turmoil having left her visibly exhausted, hair falling in messy waves, beautiful dark blue eyes red-rimmed from the tears he'd inadvertently caused and was simply the most beautiful thing Carlton had ever seen.

Almost reverently he traced her features with one hand, his gut tightening as she gently kissed the tips of his fingers as they passed over her mouth. He sank his fingers into her hair, savoring the silky slide against his skin and drew her head down to his. "Guess we have to start house hunting, then," he murmured against her mouth, tasting coffee and cinnamon.

"Tomorrow," she whispered the pressure of her thighs against his making it clear what she wanted _now_.

"Tomorrow," he agreed, tightening his hold on her and standing. Pausing only just long enough to grab the all-important paperwork and drop it on the dining table, he continued on into their bedroom, not stopping until he'd laid her on the bed and stretched out beside her.

Wordlessly, he drew off her clothes and his—his movements not frantic or particularly hurried, but containing a very specific intent. Carlton _needed_ to lay claim on his Juliet the same way she'd claimed him. With equal parts reverence and familiarity, he caressed every inch of her skin with hands and mouth, lingering at her breasts, nuzzling and kissing and sucking until she tugged at his hair and gasped for more. Sliding down her body, he kissed and licked a path to where she wanted him most, exploring every shadow and crevice with exquisite thoroughness, as if it was the first time. He lavished attention where she was most sensitive—adding fingers when she gasped his name and begged again for more—relishing the intimate taste of her and knowing she was so completely his, now and forever.

"Carlton, dear God… if you don't get up here—"

As she shuddered beneath him again and clutched at his shoulders, begging, he moved up her body and sank slowly into her, groaning at the silky grab of her muscles around him, drawing him deeper and deeper, holding him close and so tight.

Dropping his head to the pillow, he whispered hoarsely, "Don't ever let me go, Juliet."

"You're a fool if you think I'd ever want to."

It became a surprisingly playful battle of wills after that—his lack of desire to leave that warm, wet embrace, yet desperately needing to move, battling against her obvious need to create more friction, more heat. Beneath him, she smiled and arched up against him, her breasts brushing his chest and adding another devastating layer of sensation, leaving him desperate to sink still further into her. Arms wrapped around her, he rolled them to their sides, the position a cocoon that allowed them to move sinuously against each other in a slow, aching climb to a climax that when it hit, hit surprisingly hard, leaving him shaking uncontrollably as he buried his head against her neck. Juliet held him close as he gasped and tried to regain control, stroking his hair and crooning soothing words—words about much he meant to her, how no one would ever get between them, ever. So many words about how much she loved him. How much she would always love him.

And here he'd thought he'd be claiming _her_.

* * *

Monday afternoon, Carlton entered the Psych office, met by the smell of stale bean burritos and the sound of some sad 80s love song—Richard Marx, maybe?—streaming from the small portable speakers into which Spencer's phone was docked. The man himself was slumped in one of the recliners, eyes closed and sipping at a giant shake, seemingly unaware of his visitor. Carlton knew better.

"The Chief claimed my camera, the memory cards, the thumb drives, my computer, Gus' computer, and my dad's computer. I don't have to tell you how hacked he was to learn he was harboring Lassie-porn on his hard drive."

Carlton refused to rise to the petulant taunt. Mostly because he could hear the sound of defeat. Still, he wasn't taking anything for granted.

"Sometime this afternoon you're going to be served with a restraining order, so I wanted to get this out of the way before everything became official."

"What?" he replied dully, punctuating his apparent boredom with the conversation with a noisy slurp of his shake. Again, Carlton knew better.

"I know you, Spencer. I know that legalities like restraining orders mean nothing to someone like you—especially if you're determined to wreak havoc, which seems to be the only thing you live for outside of endless supplies of squeeze-y cheese and Triscuits." Carlton leaned against the edge of Guster's desk, judging it to be marginally more hygienically safe than Spencer's, and crossed his arms.

"However, today of all days, I'm feeling generous."

Bingo. The choice of words finally penetrated the gel and made the idiot open his eyes. Carlton watched Spencer's sharp hazel eyes narrow as he studied him. A small smile tugged at the edges of his mouth. Guess he'd noticed.

"I convinced Juliet and the Chief to not press the felony charges against you—at least, not for the moment. We are, of course, going to wipe all of the computers clean before we return them and we're keeping the memory cards and thumb drives, not to mention the hard copies of the photographs themselves, but like I said, I know you—I know you probably have another thumb drive secreted away somewhere and you're just waiting for the right moment to strike. Let me just offer you a friendly piece of advice: you really, really are not going to want to do that."

Uncrossing his arms, he braced his hands on the desk's edge and leaned forward slightly. "I know you understood just how serious I was about protecting my _partner_ when she first got involved with you." He allowed the smile to broaden slightly as his voice dropped, a combination he'd used to devastating effect in countless interrogations over the years. The same combination he'd used on Spencer not that long ago, steadily meeting the other man's startled gaze over the polygraph that documented just how very serious he was. His own personal Day That Would Live in Infamy.

"So I know you can only imagine how I feel about protecting my wife."

Spencer's mouth tightened into a hard line, his gaze focusing once more on the new platinum band Carlton wore.

He'd suggested it the day before—a logical, rational, decision to his way of thinking. They were going to be at the courthouse anyway and marriage was already understood between them, so why not? Of course, he'd then promptly panicked, seeing it as too cold, too practical, too completely unromantic. So not worthy of Juliet. She deserved the very best and she was settling for _him_, dammit. The least he could do was propose like a _man_, and give her a proper wedding and—

Juliet had shushed him in a _most_ effective way, then much later had admitted the same thought had occurred to her. With a laugh, she'd produced the marriage license application she'd picked up at the courthouse at the same time she filed for the restraining order.

Her only complaint had been his insistence on getting out of bed to go to the jewelry store, but despite a most enjoyable delay involving her tongue, he'd held firm. They might not need a wedding with all the bells and whistles, but he _would_ put a proper ring on her finger when he promised in sickness and in health, for better and for worse.

When he promised her forever.

Spencer's eyes closed briefly as his shoulders rose and fell with a long breath. "I don't get it," he finally said.

"You don't have to get it," Carlton said flatly. "You just have to accept it." He regarded the man he'd so long seen as a rival and had finally defeated, yet he didn't feel any real sense of victory. Just a sense that things were now finally as they should be.

That sense gave him the clarity and calm to do what he knew Juliet would want.

"She's a good person, Spencer. A good person who somehow manages to see the best in people. Who believes everyone deserves a shot at redemption. And as badly as you hurt her, I think she's going to find some way to, if not forgive you, at least make peace with you. If you're as smart as you always claim you are, you'll play nice and allow it to happen."

The other man's sandy brows rose nearly to his hairline. "And that wouldn't bother you?"

Carlton shrugged. "All I want is for Juliet to be happy." The bell above the door chimed. "And that is likely your process server. Remember—play nice."

He nodded at the pretty young woman on his way out, rolling his eyes as he heard a bright, "Well, hello there—I'm Shawn Spencer. Welcome to my humble abode and resting place of all brilliance. How may I help you?" Rolling his eyes again as he heard a melodic giggle.

Not exactly what he'd meant by playing nice, but whatever. Carlton didn't really care. All he cared about was getting home—

To his wife.


	16. Just Because, Redux

**Just Because, Redux**

* * *

Impulsive.

A word that, once upon a time, Juliet would never have used with respect to Carlton Lassiter.

These days, though…

"You're absolutely certain?"

He grinned. "Only thing I've ever been more certain about was kissing you that first time."

She felt a blush rising from the open neck of her blouse at the heat and desire so obviously evident in that searing blue gaze. "All right, then." Lowering the pen to the page in front of her, she signed her full name, taking her time, because after three months seeing it written out remained a novel experience.

Juliet O'Hara Lassiter.

She signed, then signed again, then even got to admire her initials as she scribbled them where indicated before sliding the pages over to her husband, sighing quietly as she watched his elegant, oh-so-capable hands scrawl his signature and initials alongside hers.

"Congratulations, Carlton—Juliet." Their real estate agent, a former L.A. cop who'd turned to selling houses because he'd gotten damned tired of getting shot at, briskly shook each of their hands. "And here are the keys to your new home."

As Carlton accepted the key ring, Juliet laughed and shook her head. "The first house we walked into. We must be crazy."

"No, we just knew." Pocketing the keys, Carlton turned to draw her into his arms. "That's how things have been for me, ever since the moment I decided to kiss you."

"Just because," she teased.

"Just because," he echoed as he lowered his head and brushed his lips against hers once, then twice, only lifting his head at the audible sighing coming from behind them. The familiar frown drew his brows together as he appeared to remember they weren't completely alone—that they were, indeed, standing in the conference room of their Realtor's office, surrounded by the various office staff who'd been on hand for their closing.

"Damn, Carlton, if the guys at the range could only see you now, you big softie," their agent said with a knowing smirk.

"Bite me," Carlton retorted, although it lacked any real heat. Seemed like all the heat was reserved for the hold he kept firm around Juliet's waist and the look he directed down at her. And here they had to go back to work.

Damn.

Double damn.

Rising on tiptoes, Juliet whispered in his ear, "That's _my_ job, baby," feeling his hold tighten as he sucked in a sharp breath and briefly closed his eyes. Probably envisioning rows of porcelain figurines at the range, if Juliet had to guess. He'd confessed it was his best focusing technique when he found himself more distracted than he should be. Usually during slow hours with too much paperwork. In the field, they both remained resolutely focused, maybe even more so than before, since so much more was on the line.

After grabbing a quick food truck lunch—all they had time for since they'd given over the majority of their lunch break to the house closing—they returned to the station.. As they passed Booking, Sergeant Allen called out, "Detectives— this arrived from the courthouse while you were out."

Exchanging a glance with Carlton, Juliet accepted the envelope, shivering again as she noted her name—her full name—alongside Carlton's.

"I'd forgotten," she said quietly.

Without a word, Carlton grasped her elbow and gently steered her down the hall to the conference room where he closed the door. "What do you want to do?" he asked simply.

"I… honestly have no idea." Juliet loosened the flap on the legal-sized envelope and drew out the papers declaring the expiration of their restraining order on Shawn.

"Has he attempted to contact you in any way?" Carlton's voice, while outwardly mild and even, nevertheless contained a note of something dark and dangerous.

"No, honey." She cupped his cheek in her hand, rubbing her thumb across the tight line of his mouth until he relaxed. "As far as I know, he's adhered to all the restrictions of the restraining order."

Up to and including being unable to work for the SBPD for the past three months, since the order had contained the stipulation that he stay away from their place of work. Gus had confessed, when they'd run into him one Saturday morning, that it had actually turned out to be a good thing—for him, at least. He'd been able to put time in at his pharmaceutical job in a way he hadn't for years, really, and as a result, had received a promotion and with it, a substantial raise. Since Shawn had opted to shutter Psych within the first week of the restraining order taking effect and had disappeared on an extended road trip, he was completely unaware of these developments, allowing Gus to set aside the difference in his pay in an offshore account.

In the past week, though, Juliet had noticed signs of life over at the Psych offices—lights on late at night, Shawn's Norton parked in its usual spot—and knew he'd returned. Honestly, she was surprised, knowing how easy it had been in the past for him to pull up and move on, but maybe he actually felt as if he had real roots in Santa Barbara.

Roots that had nothing to do with her.

Good for everyone involved.

"You don't want to petition for an extension on the order, do you?"

Juliet glanced from the papers she still held to Carlton, taking in his concerned, yet undeniably resigned, expression.

"Answer me honestly—do you really think we need to?" She tossed the papers to the table and crossed her arms. "Because if you do—if you can give me even one solid reason you think we should extend it, we'll go right over to the courthouse, no questions asked, and submit the petition."

While his face settled into the stony, unyielding lines she referred to as "Interrogation Face," his ever-expressive eyes revealed a whole host of emotions, barely contained within the stormy blue depths.

Finally he sighed and put his arms around her—a rare move for him since they maintained a strict hands-off policy while at the station. "No. I don't."

In spite of the curious glances she noted through the windows, Juliet leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder. "Neither do I. And besides, I think even if he were so inclined to try to stir up trouble, he'd back off in a hurry."

"I can't imagine why you'd think such a thing. Little twerp had to leave town in order to refrain from bugging us."

"I know." Juliet lifted her head and met Carlton's bemused gaze. "But I think causing undue distress to a pregnant woman is a line even Shawn wouldn't be able to bring himself to cross."

Carlton went very still, only his eyes showing signs of life, huge and blazing deep blue with a combination of hope and terror.

"I…" He swallowed, slow color flooding his skin. "I thought you were on the Pill."

Juliet felt a twinge of fear. "I quit taking it."

"When?"

Holding his gaze, she very softly admitted, "A week after we started sleeping together."

His eyes widened. "That was… almost four months ago."

Silently, she nodded.

"Why?"

She felt an unexpected smile tugging at her mouth. "Because."

He relaxed enough to lift an eyebrow. "Because?"

"Yeah. Just… because." She smoothed her hands over his lapels and straightened the tie that didn't really need straightening, just to give her nervous hands something to do. "I _knew_, Carlton. From the moment you first kissed me in this room—from the moment you told me you loved me—I could see our future and I knew I wanted it all. Everything I hadn't ever wanted with anyone else I wanted with you. Only you."

His teeth sank into his lower lip for a brief moment before he asked, "Are you… sure?"

And in his hesitant question she heard not only the need for reassurance that what she'd just told him was really true, but also all the fear and hope and love and everything he never allowed anyone but her to see.

Once again, she nodded, but she knew he'd need more than that—he'd need to hear. "Absolutely, positively sure."

A slow smile crossed his face, relaxing it into an expression she very rarely saw outside their home and one before which she was generally helpless. "You know, I'm likely to be a pain in the ass."

"So am I."

He snorted. "You're incapable of it."

"We'll see what tune you're singing when the cravings and hormonal mood swings hit."

"It'll be the same tune it's been for years."

"Oh?" She framed his face between her hands, savoring the slight burn of his emerging beard shadow against her palms. "And what's that?"

He whispered, "I love you," before lowering his head and kissing her hard, protocol and hands-off policies be damned and really, she couldn't bring herself to mind too much, since it was here, in this room, where it had all started.

Where Carlton had kissed her…

Just because.


End file.
